In Our Own Time

by dreams as light as feathers

Falling in love is never easy. Choosing to love is even harder. Being in love doesn't mean you let go. Feeling in love doesn't earn your trust. We had to find out if our love was real. We had to believe we were enough. Looking back on it, it was inevitable. We just had to figure it out in our own is story follows the Canon Timeline each chapter falls in-between canon events.

15. Chapter 15 Saturday, August 10, 2013

26.

Let me be

A witness to love

Stand on the outside

And see tenderness

Unbidden

Kind words

And a lover's sweet touch

Let me be

A witness to love

See each sacrifice surrendered

How patient and joined

Such open heart

Let me see and then believe

when angels speak of love by bell hooks

Hearts a Mess by Gotye

Saturday, August 10, 2013, Placa de la Veronica - Barcelona

The Spanish sun was nearing its apex as people roamed Barcelona's streets. Voices, foreign and local, crashed like waves against the ancient facades of the Gothic Quarter. Voices drenched in agony, some confused, and others garbled in unfettered wonder. Whether it was to escape the sun, find a way about the maze-like city, or doggedly march to the next landmark, people were swarming and determined. Barcelona was alive and moving.

Bonnie and Damon were sitting still, huddled underneath a lone white umbrella in the plaza outside the Escola de la Llotja.

The Peninsular Pre-Romanesque and Islamic influences on the landscape were once marvels that Damon spent hours combing the city streets appreciating. He had tried his best to recapture the wonder he once felt for the ancient city as they wandered about. But in 2013, the city had lost its luster. More so, it had lost its sheen when he last left, and he was failing to retrieve his old sense of wonder.

He had visited so many decades ago, just before the Second World War. In this very city, he began to drink in the madness and reach of Hitler's ideologies as they ravaged Europe. Reminded of his human life, he fled.

He had undoubtedly scarred his soul for being devoted to the hostile minds of men ignorantly fastened to a similar pursuit of nationalism as Hitler's. The sight of Europe on fire with such bigotry turned him off, and he longed for the New World scarred and reticent to be in war once more.

Unfortunately, by the time he returned home, the war had followed him, leaving him alone in an even newer world. A world that he, as a vampire, no longer belonged to and needn't participate in.

Barcelona had been another marking point of his disenchantment with life. His immortality inflicted his soul with an inevitable raging depression and gradual stillness of hope. One cannot simply live forever and expect always to be loving and hopeful.

The world going to war for a second time was enough for Damon to lose solace in the idea of long-lasting peace. His separation from his brother following the battle was the nail in the coffin. Yet still, he chose his oppressing hedonism over lofty ideologies like freedom and brotherly love—a decision he regretted today.

So Barcelona, through no fault of its own, could have been a more pleasant place for Damon. As soon as they had landed in the city, he felt a haze of repugnance wash over him. The memories, the overcrowded streets, all the pathways to bygone eras, and long-lost hopes were reminders of wrong turns taken in naivety and good faith. The whole of Europe might be that to him, in fact, a searing reminder of what wasn't. He almost regretted going on the trip. What could Europe even be to him anymore?

Europe wasn't for him, but he was determined to suffer through it once he saw his travel companion's reaction upon arrival. That morning, when they went out to take in the city, Damon fully expected her to be in lively spirits, chattering about architecture and history. He anticipated she'd ask furtive questions about food and culture. Perhaps even let him enrapture her engagement with his own stories of the city. Her chirping along in content and joyful glee was what he needed. Not the sounds of a fountain pen being scraped against a notebook with little to no idea how to write correctly in cursive.

She was all elbows on the table and a curtain of short brown tresses as she worked the ink of her new fountain pen into her "travel" journal. She had been this way since she bought the journal at their last stop in Toronto.

He could understand the sentiment. Empathize with the youthful and human desire to fill a book with all your memories of better days and eventual bygone journeys. But a photo and an Instagram caption could be just as satisfying and less grating on his ears.

He called her name gently, testing the waters. She didn't answer. She just kept scratching away. He checked for the white wire of her headphones and did not see anything.

"Bon-Bon?"

Again, she did not answer.

He sighed, feeling his aggravation from the last few hours of being ignored return. Bonnie should have, by now, been over the fact that he had taken the final tortilla for breakfast this morning. She would have demanded he buy her a snack if she were hungry. At this point, she was just being petty.

"Fine, don't hear me," he ripped off the sleeve of the nearest-to-go cup, balling it up aggressively before throwing it at her head," Knock, knock anyone home?"

The cardboard ball floated mid-air before snapping back and hitting him in the face," What part of me saying I need some time alone, didn't you understand?"

"The part where you completely ignore me for an hour."

He smiled at her, trying to look innocent. From the look on her face, it was apparent she was not amused.

"Look, Damon, if you have a problem with how I am spending my vacation right now, then go your own way. Find something to do with your time other than harassing me."

Damon rolled his eyes, tired of her 'do-your-own-thing' speech, especially when she would call him back twenty minutes after he walked away to discuss her real problem.

"You do realize we went on this vacation together, don't you? As in, we are supposed to hang out together. If you wanted to travel alone, do that on your own time, not ours."

"We've been together for the last two weeks, Damon. Anyone, anybody would grow tired of that. Forgive me for needing a little space."

Damon could feel his blood pressure rising. Everything she said would make sense if it were true. But he knew her. She was going through something and, like always, was trying to deal with it alone.

"I know you, Bonnie. I know when you need space. I spent months alone with you, and only you remember."

"This," he looked her up and down dramatically," Not your usual 'I-need-space-from-Damon attitude. Also, why did you invite me today if you needed space?"

She was about to start talking, but he interrupted again, " I'll tell you why. You are upset and probably venting it into that little journal like Stefan instead of talking to me about it. Yet, your heart knows better, hence why I am here. So talk."

"I am not upset, Damon. I am just writing about my travels like I said. If I have a problem with you, I will tell you. Like now. Leave me alone!"

Damon studied Bonnie; she was barely angled at him, avoiding eye contact. Her arms were wrapped around her journal as if her life depended on it. She didn't want him to see inside, which only made him more curious. Stupidly, he took the journal.

"Damon!" Bonnie shouted. He rose, running from under the umbrella into the warm sun and bustling crowd. For the first time in days, he felt delighted.

"What's the matter, Bonita Chiquita? Got something juicy in here?" he laughed, waving the book in the air as he dodged passersby and headed down one of the less crowded alleyways.

"You are acting like a child," Bonnie kept following him, excusing herself as she cut through people behind him. He slowed down, making sure she could track him. Her tiny legs were no match for his long, gliding strides.

"What was that? I can't hear you over this salacious bit of Bonnie gossip," he waved the book around, keeping his thumb where she left off.

He wasn't going to read it. He just wanted to scare Bonnie.

"Give it back, you bastard!"

At this point, Damon was skipping. He was so going to be in the doghouse for this. However, it felt worth it to escape the melancholy haunting him since they landed in Europe.

"I'm warning you, Salvatore," Bonnie rasped, struggling to project her voice.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and he couldn't help but turn around to try and glimpse her fury. She was a burning sprite. He could almost see the little licks of green flame coming out of her irises. The steam boiled through her flushed ears. Her forehead wrinkled in perfect frustration as her pretty lips pouted. Damon choked back a giggle.

"If you don't give my journal back right now, I'll—" Damon stopped in his tracks, eyes twinkling with joy from Bonnie's demand. He knew he was looking at certain death when he spoke the following words.

"What are you going to do, Bennett? Make me?"

Damon thought he saw a little smirk flash on Bonnie's face before she used her magic to slam him into the wall. Pinned against a brownish stone building, he was like a sculpture embedded on top of the colorful graffiti-lined streets—Banksy in stone.

Bravely and by some luck, the vampire was still holding on to the journal.

Bonnie sauntered closer.

Trapped by the solar plexus, he could feel her powerful hold increasing. The witch's psychic grip spread possesively, wrapping below his neck and creeping to the top of his waistband.

It took him great effort to hide his smile and feign dolefulness. The smell of Bonnie's magic surrounding and overpowering him was arousing. Damon started to blush, and his glee turned into embarrassment. His joy might telegraph on the other head if he wasn't careful.

Damon took a deep breath, gripping the book tighter, prepared to bargain for his release, but Bonnie's face caught him off guard. He hadn't expected her to look happy but thought she would only be slightly irritated. Instead, she gave him a death glare, like before the Prison World when she hated him.

"Bonnie, I-I," she cut him off, her voice low, causing a tickle in his spine and inner thighs. He resisted pushing out his hips, and instead, he shifted his legs uncomfortably.

"I get it, Damon, you were bored. But people's feelings are not your entertainment. Keep messing with people, and you will push them away."

The witch's ire was his despair and desire. He hated it when she was mad at him. It meant she wasn't smiling. He also loved when she was mad at him. It made her talk slow and deep.

She was turning him on at the moment, and instead of admonishing him for his developing hardness, she focused on retrieving her book. Unfortunately for her, his arms were trapped above his head. She was too short to reach. Fortunately for him, her chest brushed off his ribs as she tried and failed repeatedly.

His head tilted to his right side as he watched her, amusement only in his eyes. She was so close, any closer, and he could almost kiss the top of her cheek while she was on tiptoe. He wished she would look up at him, but she focused on her stupid book.

"Yeah, well, if you keep pushing people away, no one will be there to help you process your feelings," he retorted with no bite in his tone, but he knew it was enough to irk her.

She finally looked at him, a smile helplessly locked on his face. Although she was beautiful, and he knew it, how breathtaking she was always surprised him.

She seemed to consider his words briefly, but he knew she would resist what he was saying. She was stubborn.

"Yeah, well, maybe if these people were my friends, they wouldn't see it as me pushing them away but asking for some space. They'd know that if they were patient, I would tell them," she retorted, no longer pursuing the journal.

Bonnie was getting lost in him just like he was getting lost in her. She was on tiptoe, looking up at him, her lips centimeters from his. Damon felt his heartbeat accelerating as he studied her soft lips.

It did occur to him that she might be using his attraction to her as a distraction. Bonnie was clever that way; more importantly, she was dismissive of her feelings.

They were alone for four months, yet what he learned about Bonnie had been ascertained through drunken confessions, deep sleep ramblings, or deductive reasoning. He had been an open book for her and wished she would be that way with him. At least to return the kindness she extended, but also because she was a mystery to him—a beautiful mystery begging for unraveling.

But Bonnie was so careful with her feelings. She always claimed she wanted space, but he knew Bonnie was hiding something difficult.

With Kai, he had accepted what she had said at face value. It wasn't until the month prior in New York that Bonnie, drunk off her ass, told him the whole nasty truth about what happened. Kai had drugged her and stuffed her in a trunk for days. He was feeding her nothing but baby food and applesauce. So, in the dark, she couldn't be sure of anything else that might have occurred.

Hearing the whole story about what happened to Bonnie made him hate himself again for pushing her to save his brother. He was sure he would have tried to get his mother back even if she had told him as soon as she returned. But at the very least, he would have found another way to get Kai to do what he wanted. A way that didn't involve Bonnie.

Damon knew the only reason that he had agreed to Kai's terms was because he believed Bonnie was resilient. She was and would always be, but even she got hurt sometimes.

She probably got hurt all the time. But unlike most people, he knew, she was good at hiding her hurt and trucking on like nothing happened. He knew that about her. They were similar in that way.

The night she returned, when he asked about Kai, he knew she was hiding things, but he played along and gave her space like an idiot. Not only had that decision re-injured her emotionally, it had led to them having one of the biggest fights they ever had. Looking back on it, it had felt like the world's worst platonic break-up.

Now that they were friends again, he wouldn't make the same mistake of leaving her to process things alone. He had already lost his fiance. He couldn't afford to lose his girl best friend either.

"True, but nobody is perfect, little bird, and you are pretty good at hiding things. Sometimes, you just have to put it out there. Say what is on your mind instead of these journals. Trust that your friend has your back no matter what. There is no need to wait months to process when we can work on it together now."

"Yeah, well…" she whispered, and he caught her eyelashes flickering down to his lips for a nanosecond before she backed away. She crossed her arms, and Damon knew he had to do something before she escaped back inside of herself.

"I mean, what's in this journal that is so bad that I can't know about it," Damon flipped the book open with his thumb and began reading aloud.

Blissfully ignorant, Damon read, " Dear Elena, I have fallen in love..."

His brain short-circuited for a second, and his heart felt like it had wings. He was swallowing it down, gagging on his very soul. He rushed to read the rest, unable to live with the uncertainty of what came next.

"I wish that were true, but unfortunately, my happy summer vacation is lacking in the romance department. Not for the lack of trying, but it's hard with Ric and Damon around."

And just as quickly as his heart grew wings, they died. His soul descended like Lucifer into the hellish pits of his bowels. Damon couldn't even consider his feelings when his mind zeroed in on the words, not for a lack of trying.

With whom had she been trying? That sultry-voiced bartender in New York? Maybe the muscle-bound smooth brain in Florida. Or worse, that bookish blonde in Toronto, who she had mistaken for having a British accent.

Damon had no clue why women enjoyed those pompous accents. Bonnie, unfortunately, was just like any other woman. She gushed at the sound of the overly pronounced vowels of an overinflated ego disguising itself under false humility with extremely apologetic and rigid etiquette. Fuck Mr. Darcy and all his ilk.

He swore he might claw his eyes out if he had to suffer through another viewing of Pride and Prejudice. As hot as Kiera Knightley was, she couldn't be any hotter the 10th or 11th time he viewed the movie.

He hated movies. Damon preferred a good book. The centenarian had only gotten into them to spend time with Bonnie. A pastime Damon knew she took for granted, that Damon let her take for granted.

He even read up on movies he wouldn't have bothered with in his lifetime except to start a conversation with her. Damon would much rather reread or discuss a book with her, but Bonnie wasn't a reader. That's to say, she constantly fell asleep when reading for pleasure or when he read to her. It was a wonder she could remember anything from her grimoire with her habits.

Wait, Enzo has a British accent.

Had it been Enzo she had tried to romance? Damon had smelled him on her once.

No, it couldn't have been.

Just as his agonizing thoughts peaked, he felt pain in his skull. A thousand capillaries burst and healed in his brain, and that familiar feeling of being murdered repeatedly sent him to hell and back a thousand times in seconds.

Gripped with pain, he let the book go and fell to his knees with his hands on his head. She was no longer bursting capillaries, but he could still hear ringing in his ears. He got up slowly; he couldn't believe he had ever missed that.

Bonnie grabbed her journal, her voice shaking with adrenaline. He could smell the fear and frustration in her blood. He stepped back, trying to process what was happening inside of him.

Damon was angry, frustrated, sad? Yes, all of them, yes. As usual, he had only been trying to help, and again, she punished him for trying to show he cared. Worst of all, her biting, traitorous words had burrowed in his chest. He wished he could unread those words and save himself from pain and heartache.

She wrote about him like he was a significant obstacle to her happiness, yet she dragged him everywhere. She chose to follow him around when he suggested places. She acted like she enjoyed his company, maybe even needed it a little when she wasn't hiding from him. She only seemed to do this after they had an emotionally fulfilling, exciting, or happy day, which was every other day. So, every other day, she hated him. And every other day, she loved him.

The up-and-down rollercoaster of her emotions was burdensome. But it was not a burden of Damon's creation. In no way was he standing between her and her happiness. Especially not romantically.

He wouldn't have stopped her if she wanted to pursue that great love she was desperate to experience. She had to have known that. Sure, they had some lingering sexual tension, but he wouldn't let that ruin her happiness.

Damon would have been her biggest supporter if she had pursued a romance with someone else. Not that she was doing that with him. Nor was he with her.

Sure, he still enjoyed teasing her, observing her beauty, and making her squirm. But their relationship wasn't romantic. They had an awkward time in 1994 when things were uncertain. There was plenty of sexual tension, which is to be expected when you put two hot people alone together for a while, but that was it.

Even if they resolved the sexual tension right then, he doubted their relationship would become romantic. Not because Bonnie wasn't fantastic, kindhearted, beautiful, resilient, funny, and anything a man could ask for in a life partner, but because they were just friends. They were destined to be friends, maybe, but nothing else.

Besides, Bonnie could barely stand him as it was; how could she see him as a romantic partner?

So why was he a burden to her?

If she wanted a boyfriend, he would be okay with it. Damon approved of the idea. He knew he would be to her what she had been to him in his relationship with Elena.

A confidant in the storm of romantic uncertainty. An advisor on how to best navigate an argument. A teacher when she didn't know how to ask for what she wanted. A protector when her romantic partner would eventually let her down.

A friend.

Not an obstacle or rival.

Just a friend.

She knew that, right?

"I wasn't asking for a lot, Damon. I just needed some space. I would have talked about it eventually. Fuck why can't you just be patient."

"Cause you are full of shit! If you wanted space Bonnie, then take your fucking space. You can't just drag me around everywhere and then ignore me when you no longer want to hang out with me."

Damon had been glaring at her, prepared to have that long-awaited fight, when he saw the quiver of her bottom lip. His need for an argument, no matter how necessary, became irrelevant to him.

"I do want to hang out with you," she cried.

Whatever she was feeling was far heavier than what she was used to. She couldn't pretend to be okay. Damon recognized that Bonnie was at her breaking point.

Damon was still angry. He just didn't know what to say anymore. The vampire was tired of being punished for wanting to connect with his defensive little bird. But he couldn't just lay into her like that. She needed him now more than ever.

It wasn't the first time they had an outburst like this.

Bonnie had been emotionally unwell since Kai put Elena into a coma. Damon confronted her in Florida. She said she felt guilty for being alive and hanging out with Damon while Elena slept. He assured her that he would never regret keeping her alive and made her promise not to feel guilty for living. Damon held Bonnie as she cried and got her pancakes in the morning. That was supposed to be the end of this emotional turmoil. Yet here they were still dealing with it.

He believed her when she said she wanted to hang out with him, but he couldn't understand why she was still so hot and cold about it. At this point, what she felt had nothing to do with misguided guilt. She had a problem with him.

Maybe he was a burden?

Bonnie reached out a hand to touch him. An olive branch. A request to let things go. He wanted to take it. But he was afraid. He felt they would just be vacuuming over the shit stains on the carpet. They could act like things were good, but stains would still be on the rug.

They needed to talk. They needed to figure out if their friendship was indeed that much of a burden. Yet, the world felt like it was ending every time they tried.

Damon looked at Bonnie's face, trying to get her to look him in the eye, but she didn't. She just pulled her hand back, clasping it around her book, closing herself off from the conversation. What was the point of talking to someone so determined to live in their lie?

Damon had enough, and he started to walk.

"You are not a burden, Damon," she cried, following him.

Of course, she would say the right thing to assuage his fears as if she had read his mind.

"I know that!" he retorted coldly, picking up the pace.

"I meant I don't think you are a burden."

"Don't you?"

"I don't. I am just frustrated because…" Damon could see her preparing to go in circles.

"Why are you using me as an excuse not to be happy? If you want romance, then go out and find it. Why am I the excuse for that not happening?"

Bonnie stuttered in place, no words leaving her lips, but suddenly, he got the overwhelming sense that the words she was struggling to speak were, 'It's complicated.'

He had said those exact words to her mother when she had been stressing over his intentions for Bonnie. Now, he could feel the irony that he was essentially asking Bonnie the same question her mother asked him. What are your intentions for me?

Damon didn't wait for an answer. He already knew it: friendship. The complicated bit, that they acted more like estranged lovers than feuding friends, was to be overlooked.

For the most part, that ignorance had been working, at least before Kai put Elena to rest. Now, their proverbial backstop was gone. Two questions had replaced their certainty: What were they, and would they remain the same?

Damon knew Bonnie's answer. They would be friends no matter their feelings.

And his?

Damon kept walking. Bonnie followed silently after him.

"Where are you going?" Bonnie asked, her heeled shoes scraping and clicking against the cobblestone as she tried quickly catching up. He could hear her worry and concern but kept moving.

The question about who they were to each other still rang in his ears. He knew slowing down, letting Bonnie catch up, and looking into her eyes would force him to confront that question. He knew he wasn't ready to answer that, at least not with her in front of him.

"Away from you," he barked aggressively. He had no clue where he was going, but he knew it couldn't be next to the witch less; Damon made their already complicated situation more so.

They were almost out of the maze of an alleyway into an opening into the Gothic quarter when Damon could hear loud shouting. It was bouncing off the walls toward them, down an adjacent alleyway. The words, "¡Voy a matar puta!" grabbed his attention.

Someone was probably in danger. However, Damon tended to ignore these types of aggressive remarks and comments. For one, he was no hero. And two, everything had a context; sometimes, it wasn't evil.

"No tengo miedo de ti," a woman's solemn voice answered back, not a hint of fear in her words.

"Golpéame una vez más. Mira qué pasa," there was a struggle as the man growled out his request.

Damon felt his whole body tense as he naturally slowed down before the alleyway where the sounds were coming. He felt uneasiness creep through him, waiting to hear what would happen next, palms getting sweaty.

Damon was once again outside the kitchen door of his childhood home as his dad argued with his mom. He waited for the woman's apology so he could walk by, pretending he hadn't heard the plates shattering and the table slide across the floor. He wasn't abandoning her in that kitchen. Damon was just doing what she always told him she wanted—minding his own business.

You made your bed, Mother, now, lie in it. Have a nice nap.

The slap that followed was earth-shattering. Damon had expected to hear the woman's voice call out in anguish, but it was the man, "¡Puta!"

Damon's heart was racing, and his mind was struggling to focus. He needed to act, but for some stupid reason, he couldn't. Bonnie leaped forward from behind him, bounding to the woman. He could see her brow hardened into a determined line. Without question, Damon followed her, any hint of fear in his bones thawing out as soon as her passionate heat passed him.

Damon turned the corner to see the man with a fist in the woman's hair. The other fist poised to strike the woman's face. In a second, Bonnie laid the bastard on the floor with a burst of wind. She ran to the woman, and Damon pounced on the man before he could get up.

Damon didn't bother with warnings or threats. His hands had a mind of their own. Right, left, right, left, right, left, and so on until Bonnie's delicate voice brought him back. Only then did the ringing in his ears stop. Only then did Giuseppe's voice stop begging him for mercy. An echo of the first time Katherine compelled his father into defenseless submission. The first time, he punished the man who beat his mother—the man who made his son too weak to help or care for anyone but himself.

Damon was bloody and a mess, feeling a strange numbness like the calm of a flipped humanity switch. Damon looked at Bonnie, fearing she would see him as a monster. Proving that his sense of self was still intact, but he felt so distant. The vampire needed Bonnie's attention. He needed her to look at him and ground him again.

Bonnie's attention was on the woman asking her questions. She was thin, with messy red hair. Damon couldn't see her face, but he could tell she was delicate, although stubbornly brave. Bonnie's soothing voice calmed him as she tried to help the woman. He took a few deep breaths, seeking Bonnie's heartbeat and relaxing.

The woman was trying to stand up. Her voice seemed hysterical, but not a single limb was shaking. She leaned her head against Bonnie, sobbing for a second before she lifted her head and grabbed the witch's shoulders, thanking her. Bonnie was saying something in broken Spanish about a hospital and the police when he finally started to wake up from his daze.

People were coming closer after hearing the commotion. Damon noticed the girl shake her head no before grabbing Bonnie's hands, kissing each hand, and leaving. She looked steady in her stilettos as she walked off, almost sure of herself. Briefly, she looked back, her eyes finally landing on Damon. They seemed unaffected. Something was not right with that girl.

Bonnie called out to Damon and demanded some of his blood for the abuser. The man was a mess, but the vampire had no reason to help. The asshole deserved to be beaten, even if the woman had essentially goaded him into it. He should have just walked away.

"I think he'll be fine, Bonnie," Damon stated, looking at his fingernails dramatically. He noticed there was fresh blood sliding from his knuckles into his cuticles. A light mist of blood covered his shirt and face. It was the wrong day to wear white.

Damon licked his fingertips. The man tasted like creatine, protein shakes, and a hint of vervain. Uh-oh.

"Damon, heal this guy and compel him before someone walks over here and sees us!"

Damon understood Bonnie's point. It would be a hassle to deal with compelling the cops and whoever was listening in on the other line. However, he could hear no one was close by. So he had some time.

Damon knelt, taking in his handy work. Although the guy had been spitting up blood, he wouldn't die. His broken jaw and swollen eyes would take a couple of weeks to heal, but he would live as long as he didn't swallow teeth.

"¡Abra su boca!"

Damon grabbed the man's jaw and squeezed it back into place with one hand. No teeth were missing, but the front teeth were chipped and laying on the man's tongue and the back of his throat. Damon turned him on his side, slapping the back of his head so he would cough up the bone chips.

"Do you have to be so rough?"

Damon rolled his eyes, looking up at Bonnie, arms crossed in disapproval. Of course, she would find compassion at a time like this, even though she was the one to lay him on his ass in the first place.

Bonnie had been misplacing her sympathy, which wasn't surprising to Damon. He knew she blamed herself for Kai's backlash. She forgot that locking Kai away forever was a good choice, a necessary evil.

He wished she would get over it and start acting more like herself. His Bonnie didn't sympathize with assholes. She didn't tolerate bad behavior, and she most certainly wouldn't demand he heal an enemy. That was something Elena would do, not Bonnie.

"You want me to be nice to the man who was going to punch a woman just a second ago?" he asked rhetorically," Besides, the fucker has vervain in his system."

Bonnie thought about it briefly before smiling, a sinister little smile she had adopted a month or so in his constant presence. His little angel of reckoning was back. All she needed was a little reminder that it was okay to punish just as much as it was okay to save.

"Good point. So why are you turning this hunter bastard on his side and… "

"Ugh, elementary," Damon interrupted while forcing an exaggerated sigh of frustration.

Inside, he was excited to play his second favorite game with Bonnie.

She rolled her eyes, crossing her arms even tighter, whispering, "Here you go again."

Damon liked to say that she was the brawn and he was the brain, the beauty divided equally between them. The Watson to his Sherlock.

Bonnie pretended to hate the game, but he knew she got a kick out of it. Most of the time, she pretended not to see the answer. For some reason, she liked to hear him talk, and he appreciated her making him feel special.

"My dear Watson, shouldn't a girl such as yourself with a modicum of first aid training understand the recovery position."

"Yeah, for people with seizures and college kids who drink too much," she stated, kneeling and picking up a piece of tooth," But I guess it can work for people whose teeth get punched in."

"But that doesn't answer your real question now, does it, Watson," Damon smiled before rechecking the man's mouth. All clear.

"Oh great, Sherlock, please do enlighten me," she clasped her hands together and batted her eyelashes excessively," What is my actual question?"

"The answer to your question is Vervain. "

"You said that already."

"Yes, 'cause your question was why I wasn't sucking this woeful bastard dry."

"Engh, wrong!" Bonnie answered playfully, and Damon felt his heart skip a beat," You aren't draining him because he might be a hunter sent to kill you."

"Correct," he smiled back," You just couldn't let me have this one."

"I can't let you believe you are the smartest person in the room all the time," he almost blushed at her chastising tone. He cleared his throat and kept himself focused on the task.

Damon forced the blonde man's jaw open again, hacking up a big spitball and launching it inside his mouth.

"Disgusting," Bonnie sneered.

"I know."

His spit would heal the man enough to make him talk but not enough to fix everything like his blood would. The man tried to hack up the spit, but Damon kept his mouth closed as the man wrestled against him.

"My next question was if this man was a hunter coming after us. Then why did he try and beat that woman? Seems like he was a little too preoccupied to be on an assassination run."

"He could be multi-tasking," the dirty blonde was reaching for Damon's face, so he had no choice but to add his other hand to the endeavor to make the man swallow," just cause he was fighting with his old lady doesn't mean he wasn't on a mission."

Damon grabbed the back of the man's head, forcing his chin into his chest. He covered his mouth and nose so he couldn't breathe. In seconds, the man started tapping. Damon let him go as soon as he swallowed.

Damon looked up at Bonnie, who was horrified by everything that had transpired. Damon didn't let that stop him. He had a job to focus on. So he did what he did best: he ignored her judgment and changed the subject.

"Or maybe she was a part of the plan? Maybe they thought we would do the conventional thing and approach him at close range. I doubt they expected you to knock him out that far back."

"So you think the girl was in on it?"

Judging by her tone, Bonnie thought the idea was incredulous.

"You mean you aren't curious about the girl?" the man squirmed beneath Damon. But he stuck his knee on the guy's solar plexus while waiting for his jaw to heal. He made sure to keep eye contact with Bonnie so she wasn't paying attention to the essential task he was performing.

"I happen to be on the side of believing the victim, Damon. Especially when I saw the perpetrator attack the victim in front of me," Damon could feel the heat of Bonnie's gaze burning into him.

Bonnie was taking him out of context again. He was starting to think Bonnie did it on purpose because she didn't like that she agreed with him so often, as if she needed some discord between them.

"That's not what I am saying, and you know it. Just think for a second, Bon. Don't you think it was weird that the woman walked away so easily?"

Damon removed his knee from the man's chest, grabbing him by the collar before gently slapping him once. The man groaned, but he didn't grimace in pain. All healed.

"Maybe she was just happy to be free? I mean…" As Damon removed his knee from the man's chest, Bonnie trailed off, taking him by the collar before lowering himself close to his face.

"Dime. ¿Para quién trabajas?"

"Vete a la mierda," the blond's broken jaw had mended part way, but he sounded like he was trying to vocalize with a cane pulling his cheeks down. Damon wanted to laugh, but he was sure Bonnie thought he was enough of a psycho.

"Okay, so assuming she was in on it. Does that make her a hunter too?"

Damon lifted the man by the throat, slamming him into the nearest wall, making sure his head made a little contact with the brick. A nice thud echoed as he rocked the bastard for the second time, making him smile," I mean, that depends on what he says."

"But why.." Damon cut Bonnie off again.

"Esa mujer antes. ¿Trabajas para Ella?" the stupid blonde cackled before spitting at Damon. The blonde missed Damon, and stray particles hit Bonnie on the forehead. Her squeals of disgust would have been cute if he weren't so angry that the fucker spit on her.

Damon grabbed the man by the throat, sliding him along the brick as he lifted him. He wasn't taking pleasure in the whole affair at that point. Damon was in a blind rage. The idea that he had laid any part of his disgusting self on Bonnie pissed him off. Full of grace, Bonnie's hand touched his outstretched arm. Her touch was calming, but he didn't let go of the asshole.

Bonnie tried reasoning with the prick, "Por favor, dile a mi amigo lo que quiere saber. O te matará."

Damon was impressed; he could sense the warning in Bonnie's voice as she pronounced those final words. He liked how intimidating and badass it made him sound.

If only she could speak Italian as well.

Bonnie looked Damon in the eyes questioningly as she tapped his outstretched arm. He had been getting lost in thoughts of his imaginary Bonnie crooning sweet nothing that he hadn't noticed the man turn blue. He let the man go, and the blonde collapsed against the wall behind him, knees bent and hands massaging his neck.

"¡Última oportunidad! ¿Para quién trabajas?" Damon's words were final and his eyes screamed, cooperate or die.

The blonde closed his eyes, seeming to think briefly before standing up straight and saying," Vosotros Morís."

Damon's right hand instantly caught that beaten-up jaw again, with twice as much force as before. The man's head cracked the brick behind him. He didn't even bother with a follow-up volley. If he weren't dead at that moment, he would be soon.

"Damon," Bonnie whispered, and he could tell she was afraid. Perhaps every instinct was telling her to blame him and judge him harshly. Kill him for being a monster, or even just run away.

"He had a stake," Bonnie whispered. Damon looked down to see it hanging from the near-dead man's pocket.

"Time to loot, I guess," Damon retorted without care.

Truthfully, he was upset with himself. He was grateful that his guess about the man being a hunter was correct, but he was also angry that he couldn't get an answer.

"You know what's still bothering me about your theory, Damon?"

"The girl?" Damon searched the man, not seeing a wallet or anything, except dog tags that aligned him with the Spanish military but nothing specific to his hunter group.

"If she was a hunter, why didn't she try to kill us?" Damon was about to call it in when he noticed the tattoo on the man's forearm. He started to get an itch behind the ear and a tingle in his temple.

"I saw that same tattoo on the girl," Bonnie stated, with an air of uneasiness in her voice. Like she hadn't wanted to admit he was right.

"Really," Damon answered absentmindedly, racking his brain for where he had seen that mark before.

Finally, it clicked, and Damon felt an overwhelming fear coil around him. He grabbed Bonnie by the arm so he could get access to her bag. He yanked it over her head, throwing out everything, one at a time.

"What are you looking for, Damon?"

"The kind of thing someone would send one idiot to die for."

"And that's in my bag?" Damon flipped the bag upside down, and nothing came out.

"Where is your key card?"

"Umm, it should be in my purse?"

"You sure," he asked as she was checking her pockets. Damon checked, but his keycard was in his front pocket where he left it last.

"I can't find it, Damon," Bonnie answered, surprised," She must've taken it."

Damon was already headed toward the direction of the hotel," Stay in the open! And whatever you do, don't go to the hotel and do not, for the love of God, call Ric!"

Friday, July 26, 2013 - New York

The yellow cab parked in front of an old square red brick building with a russet clay sign and whitish beige block letters that read Hudson River Maritime Museum.

To say that Damon was unimpressed would be an understatement.

After two hours of traveling from the St. Regis Hotel to Kingston, Damon expected some monuments of archaeological greatness. Or, based on Ric's secrecy, some underground bunker disguised as some still grand Roman-inspired building.

Despite great expectations, the building in front of him was indeed what it claimed to be—a maritime museum. However, Ric's secrecy confirmed more than meets the eye with this unassuming brick building. Underneath, its perfect camouflage of drabness and generally bland local was an unexpected something of the unpredictable variety. Yes, there was. There had to be.

Why else would Ric have pretended to pass out face-first onto the floor of a dingy old bar? Only to escape a minute after Damon lay Ric on his bed via a prepared rope of extra linens, he requested that morning.

A 6'1 Viking-type does not just risk life, limb, and embarrassment by clunkily scaling down the side of a luxury hotel during a bustling New York evening for something ordinary.

Amused by his best friend's exhibition scaling down the 5th-floor balcony, Damon had to follow. He simply floated down and slipped into the archaeologist's taxi. A few people pointed, but no one stopped what they were doing. That's New York for you.

Stepping out of the taxi, Damon took a sniff of the air. Nothing magical was in it, another disappointment. It was an utterly disgustingly humid evening with overcast clouds hanging over the moon like a thick negligee. Teasing him with light, just like the mystery of what Ric was up to, was teasing him.

"So, remind me again why we are at a museum my 12-year-old might visit on a field trip?"

Damon grimaced after he recognized the words my 12-year-old left his mouth.

Benny.

"It's the Long Island Maritime Museum, Benny, what were you expecting?"

"I thought it was merry-time, like happiness. I thought it was an arcade."

"That's it! You and I are doing homework together. No side-kick of mine can be that slow."

"You think I'm dumb?"

"No, I just think you need to apply yourself. I'll help you."

"Why, you aren't even my father?"

"Of course not. I'm better— I'm the hero in your dreary life, and you are the sidekick. Like Batman and Robin or something like that. Except less… 'merry.' Eh-eh?"

" So…. Like… a Dad?"

"Oh…eh, sure, kid."

Damon felt a lump caught in his throat. He couldn't even visit New York anymore without remembering the past. The world was a reminder of the people Damon loved and lost. It was a surprise he could return anywhere, so thorough was his habit of leaving things worse than he found them. He took out the flask in his pocket, drawing a deep swig of bourbon.

"You mean a 12-year-old? Let's not pretend you had plans to become a father after you turned."

"Yeah," Damon deflected easily, but his heart hurt at the implication," I misspoke, but you get the gist. What is so important that you had to pretend you were black-out drunk to sneak away from Bon-Bon and me?"

"I told you. I'm meeting a friend about an artifact. I am just getting back into archeology to keep myself distracted after the loss of Jo," he confessed. Damon would have almost believed him if he hadn't known Ric was a liar.

"Sure, and it has nothing to do with this fancy red rock called the Phoenix Stone."

Damon pulled the newspaper lying on Ric's bed from his back pocket. Ric grabbed it, trying to hide the evidence.

"Why are you being so secretive about it, Ric? I assume it's a big deal with a name like the Phoenix Stone. What does it do? Resurrect the dead?" Ric put his hand on Damon's mouth.

"Look, man, I am begging you, just …" Ric looked over his shoulder, and Damon noticed some empty SUVs lined up across the street for the first time. They looked like diplomatic vehicles, but they were missing identifying flags.

"Let's go inside, and you'll get your answers, okay."

Damon didn't reply with Ric's hand around his mouth. Instead, he just nodded. Whatever Ric had gotten into, he was lucky Damon had decided to follow him.

They went around the back of the building. As if they were in a spy movie, Ric moved to the door, carefully looking left then right before banging out the secret code, dun dun-dun-dun dun, dun dun. It took everything in Damon's power not to laugh, especially since the old professor took it so seriously. If the love of his life got killed before him and there was a chance of getting her back, he would take it seriously, too, even if it meant knocking a child's passcode on the back door of an unassuming museum.

Unexpected and much to Damon's delight, a raven-haired bombshell about 5'4 answered the door chest first. Her low-cut top was a thin black jersey cotton stretched over an under-wired bra with delicate lace fabric peeking through. It was Damon's favorite bra style because it left very little to the imagination. The only thing better was a woman who didn't wear one. His mind flooded with images of supple, tawny mounds jiggling happily under his plain t-shirts.

The woman's décolletage introduced her as a mature lady with a paradoxically fresh pair of double D's. She had some work done and was happily showing her new architecture. But Damon didn't mind. He was happy to appreciate good work.

However, he wasn't sure her current outfit sent the right vibe. Had she gotten the memo that it was a "friendly" visit? He looked to the professor, who was wide-eyed with a brow drenched in cold sweat, then back to the vixen. She certainly hadn't gotten the memo.

Breaking the tension, Damon introduced himself to the woman, who only seemed to notice him after he shoved his hand in her face. Damon would have been annoyed that she didn't see him immediately if she hadn't done a double-take after catching his eyes. She took his hand happily, angling her chest toward Damon.

Her grey eyes sparkled," So, are you Ric's TA?"

Damon loved introducing himself as Ric's TA. It made Ric's classes that much more popular and annoyed the hell out of him. But mostly, it got Damon better access to blood, or it used to before Bonnie started attending Whitmore full-time.

He could hide his little escapades from Elena. She was always on the medical campus. However, Bonnie saw him everywhere and always knew how to make friends with the most delicious girls in her class. She was such a fang blocker.

It had been months since he had fed from the vein because of Bonnie, and he needed it after what happened with Elena. He wondered for a second if Ric would mind him having some alone time with his little professor friend when the older man interrupted.

"Actually," Ric swatted the vampire's hand," Damon is no longer my TA. He dropped out, and I am just trying to get him interested in the field again so he can complete his degree. He has a lot of potential."

Damon rolled his eyes, turning his attention back to his prey. If he could make eye contact with her, he could quickly get her inside and take a sip from her deliciously milky neck. But Ric was one step ahead.

"Can we go inside, Delilah," Ric stepped forward and lowered his tone," And see that remarkable new artifact we discussed earlier?"

The woman shivered. Even though he didn't like being fang-blocked, Damon was impressed. Delilah looked up at the professor, brows furrowed with uncertainty," I am not sure I can do that, Ric."

"Come on, Lila," Ric begged. Damon faltered for a second, thinking of Benny and his mother. He controlled himself, honing his gaze on the milky white skin of the woman before him and his need to feed.

"Unfortunately, the head curator is hosting this last-minute banquet for someone from the Spanish embassy. And they want to see that particular artifact tonight. It could be a big boon for the museum, and," she stopped touching Ric's chest briefly," as much as our friendship means to me. I don't know if I can risk it."

Damon took a step closer, prepared to compel the woman, but Ric seemed to be reading his mind and blocked his view," We will be quick, Delilah, I promise."

Damon's eyebrows furrowed. He had no clue why Ric was being so protective of this woman. Damon leaned over to the left behind Ric's back and flashed the woman an impressive smile. She looked at him, startled at first, before sinking into his eye contact.

"We will make it worth your wild," Damon's voice was thick with the magic of his compulsion. The woman's pupils dilated from the sound, and her eyes darted between the professor and the vampire. A wicked smile appeared as she brought her finger to the corner of her lips. Damon could only imagine that whatever the woman had in mind would involve him and Ric as a tag team.

"Okay, I guess if we make it quick," she giggled before opening the door wider and leading them into the building.

Damon couldn't hide his satisfaction," I like her." Ric looked back at Damon, annoyed.

They entered a small coffee lounge. They moved toward a wall painted all-black with a black door in the middle. It was an inconspicuous entryway except for the red flashing card reader on the side of the door.

They entered the next room, a space covered in glass. The AC unit heavily filtered the room's air, and the lights were unnaturally bright. Damon felt for a moment he was back on the autopsy table at Whitmore. Delilah motioned for them to stand by a corner desk while she scurried off into the stacks for the Phoenix Stone.

"Please do me a favor, Damon, and leave her out of your self-destructive spiral."

"My self-destructive spiral?"

Damon was genuinely curious.

"We all know you are hurting over Elena, and feeding off the neck of an innocent woman is just your way of dealing with that. Delilah is a good friend and an old colleague of mine. She doesn't need some creep like you pulling her into this world."

"Colleague? Friend? I doubt her skimpy top and your skeezy bedroom voice are symbols of your collegial friendship."

As if Damon had slapped the back of his head, Ric turned around, laying into him.

"You know what? You have no right to talk when you and…" Delilah coughed, cutting Ric off mid-sentence, much to Damon's gratitude.

He wasn't ready to have that conversation with Ric.

"My boss will return here in 10 minutes to ask about this. Those members of the Spanish embassy seem particularly interested in seeing it."

She was wearing gloves and brought an old tiny chest to the table behind them," In fact, a few people called about this thing after it was published in The Daily Freeman, no less."

Delilah opened the chest carefully, revealing what looked like a piece of red agate to Damon. It had a few dozen faces cut into it. Which was strange because everyone knew agate had to be polished. And yet the stone, despite being agate, looked a bit translucent toward the center; other than that, it was rather unremarkable. Extremely disappointing.

"Which makes me wonder, Ric," she closed the box quickly before Ric could get his hands on it," Why do you need it?"

"Delilah, I-" she interrupted him.

"You were dead. I went to your funeral," Damon's eyebrows shot up. He had forgotten the teacher had faked his death a couple of times.

"Then suddenly, you call me out of the blue. And it's not to explain to me why you faked your death. Or what happened to Isobel that night? Or even why you kept talking to me about starting over. As if I even had a chance with you. Explain it to me, Eric Sanderson, if that is your real name."

"Eric?" Damon hadn't been this entertained in days. He feigned confusion for a moment, and he could imagine the vein in Ric's forehead pulsating about to burst.

The double doors to the gallery opened, revealing a group of men in black suits trailing behind two men.

One wore a gray suit with a museum pin on his lapel; he was the curator. The other was a dirty blonde with dark eyes (the one Damon would later meet in Barcelona). It was clear to Damon that he spent more time in the gym than on a sparring mat. Dressed in an atrocious mesh sweater and trouser combo, Damon wanted to eradicate the man for his crime against fashion and common sense.

What happened to the days when men wanted to look strong, not look like an overinflated guerilla?

"Damon," Ric called, his tone concerned but calm," Do you think you can take care of this?"

"Absolutely!"

Damon made quick work of the men. The surprise attack kept them from their guns, but the blonde had managed to shoot one wooden tip bullet at him before Damon knocked him out. Lying out cold, Damon noticed his tattoo. It was a compass star point with Latin words for The Family written underneath in bold letters, GENUS. In the center of the compass was a symbol of a bull.

Curious, Damon checked the other man; their symbols were the same. Damon felt himself grow uneasy. Something wasn't right.

"Damon!" he looked to see the old man had grabbed one of the guns and demanded they release him and Delilah.

"Lower the weapon," he compelled before looking at Ric and Delilah. Ric seemed upset, but Delilah was a mess. Her fear was intense and perfuming the air. Damon felt his blood lust cloud his vision, but he controlled himself. He didn't need Ric to kill him.

"Bring me the box, Delilah," Damon commanded, and she did so quickly before Ric could stop her.

"Wait over there with your boss," he opened the box and took out the stone. He sniffed it, but he couldn't smell anything. It seemed like a regular old rock. But the longer he stared at it, the worse he felt. He couldn't sense anything, but somehow, in his soul, he knew that stone could be dangerous.

"Do you sense anything, Damon?" Ric asked, moving closer, his eyes darting to the gun on the floor. Ric could have killed Damon in a matter of seconds, but Damon knew the professor wouldn't risk it as long as he held Ric's golden ticket to seeing his wife again. As quickly as Ric could pull the trigger, Damon could crush the stone.

"Nothing, but I got a bad feeling about it," Damon's eyes were locked on the stone as if it had trapped him. He felt heavy for some reason.

"So, it could be real."

"Won't know until you get a witch to look at it," Damon finally looked away from the stone and at Ric, who was moving slowly to grab it. Damon was grateful he had left the gun on the floor.

"So we'll have our witch take a look then," Ric was so close to grabbing it, but Damon moved his hand back, tightening his grip on the stone.

"No," Damon's tone was firm.

"What?" Ric looked livid, like Damon had ripped his wife from his fingers.

"We will find a witch, Ric, but it can't be..."

"The one you like…"

"Do you want Bonnie to get hurt?"

" Of course not," Ric answered quickly, looking offended by what Damon had asked.

"Then what's your problem, Ric?" Damon extended the stone slightly, with a sinister smile, not loosening his grip.

Damon could see Ric's hope return as he realized that Damon was still going to help him. Ric didn't grab the stone. Instead, he studied Damon carefully. It was as if Ric was seeing right through him, coming to some fore-drawn conclusion. Damon was curious about what it was but was sure he had a clue.

"About a month ago, I would have thought you would be okay with sacrificing Bonnie. If it didn't work out, you would get Elena back."

"What's your point?"

"Nothing, no need to point out the obvious. But you aren't exactly displaying those distant affections you are always on about."

Damon sighed audibly, dropping the stone from Ric's reach to look his friend squarely in the eye—man to man.

"Why don't you ask me already?"

Of all the people he had expected to ask him about his feelings for Bonnie when he returned from 1994, Ric was at the top of the list. The fact he had yet to ask was terrible news. It meant Ric knew everything and waited for Damon to clean up his act before his best friend said something. Now, Ric could no longer ignore it.

"Is there more going on between you and Bonnie?"

More. As in, do you feel more? Does she see more? More than the monster within.

Ric's words from the past have haunted Damon every day since he's spoken them. The statement 'more than the monster within' had been a wake-up call, and several days passed with him questioning his feelings until they danced for the first time in April of 2010. His doubts about whether he should protect the witch from martyring herself faded. He couldn't let her die. It would have been a waste not only of her power but also her life.

A beautiful life he didn't dare want to let go of before he got the opportunity to show her she was wrong. He didn't care what she thought of him, he told himself. He only needed to prove her wrong that he wasn't a heartless bastard undeserving of Elena, life, and love. It was a pathetic excuse for caring.

Damon could laugh at his younger self. He had changed so much. Now, he could no longer hide that he cared for the little witch, not even from himself. Not even from Ric.

"No."

"Do you want there to be?"

Damon hesitated; the answer was yes. He wanted to experience what it would be like together, but only sexually. Otherwise, things had been perfect after their return from 1903. Well, life had sucked, but his friendship with Bonnie had strengthened. It helped that they were never alone. He would find his mind wandering back to those days in '94 when they were alone.

"No, Ric," he sighed, putting the stone back in front of his face.

"I can crush this thing right here and now. So, do we have a deal? Operation keep the judgmental little witch out of our business a go?"

"Judgmental, you think she won't help?" Ric's smile was off-putting, as if he knew he caught Damon in a lie.

"Of course not. Maintaining the balance of nature is her shtick. And last time I checked, bringing people back to life was not allowed. Plus, she learned her lesson after bringing baby Gilbert back."

"Fine, we will do it your way. But that means you're paying for hotels, the plane tickets, and the booze," Ric countered.

You act as if I wasn't going to pay for everything already.

"Why?"

"It could be a while before we find anyone close to your new girlfriend's power level."

"One, we don't need someone as powerful. All we need is someone strong enough for this beaten-up rock."

"And two, she is not my girlfriend. She is my annoying little sister. That, per Elena's, I must take care of."

"Sure, whatever helps you sleep at night, Damon."

Damon compelled Delilah and the head curator to report the stone stolen and dumped the men outside for the cops. They were now looking for a lone suspect at large. A double agent they would never find.

August 10, 2013, Hotel de Colon near Catedral de Barcelona

Damon knew it was a fifty-fifty chance his best friend died in their hotel room or Ric was walking into an ambush in their hotel room and was about to die.

The sun was dipping into the first hour after high noon, but the crowd headed indoors. In an hour, the streets would be empty with all the shops closing for siesta. If only it had been an hour later, Damon would have been able to vamp to the location in under a minute. Now, he was stuck fighting against human traffic at a near-human pace.

He checked the rooftops to see if anyone was watching him. Or to see if the girl was taking a more direct root. After what felt like 5 minutes of hell, he finally was on the west side of the Cathedral of Barcelona.

Reminded that he had yet to see the La Sagridad de Familia, one of the most beautiful basilicas in Spain, Damon had dreamed of seeing the summer rays light the Passione Facade from above. Damon regretted not visiting the site yesterday evening, at the very least. He was a fan of Gaudi.

1908, before returning to Mystic Falls, he was gathering architects to create the new Salvatore estate when one of Gaudi's abandoned plans for a New York skyscraper came to his attention. He was intrigued by the beauty of being at the top of a mountain yet living in the comfort of a city.

However, he didn't think having a giant skyscraper on the outskirts of Virginia's part of the Appalachian was inconspicuous. It was a shame, though; nothing screamed vampiric opulence like Gaudi.

Damon ducked his head and sped up as he ran into the Hotel de Colon. He regretted getting mentally tangled up in Gaudi's work. It could have cost Ric his life.

He headed straight for the staircase, vamping to their suite. The door was wide open. The huntress was inside.

Damon walked in, trying to calm his breathing and his heartbeat. He had not been fed yet and was weak with hunger. At first glance, everything looked normal, but the atmosphere was intense. Damon searched for a heartbeat but couldn't hear anything besides his own.

He relaxed; the huntress couldn't have been in the suite. He rushed to Ric's room to see if she had opened the safe. The room was thankfully empty. Room service had cleaned up, but nothing looked disheveled. The safe was closed. Perhaps he had been overreacting.

Still, Damon was nervous. Ric should have been at the hotel or close to it by now. He said he would be back in Barcelona by 12:30 p.m. It was a quarter past one.

Damon decided to open the safe. He couldn't help it. Damon had to know if Ric was back. Was he dead, or had the archeologist headed to the Gothic Quarter to meet him as promised?

Damon thought for a second.

If Ric were fine, he would have texted that he was traveling their way, so there was a chance he wasn't okay. Either way, Damon hoped the stone was there. Damon wanted to believe Ric made it back safely.

Damon punched the first number and heard a subtle movement in the closet. Still, he couldn't hear a heartbeat, but he knew he wasn't mistaken. The following number went in and then came a soft exhale. Someone was in the room, and they were waiting for him to open up the safe. Damon deduced that Ric was okay or had convinced them he didn't have the stone.

Damon put the next digit in, bracing himself for the oncoming attack. Finally, he entered the last digit, and the safe clicked open. He hesitated momentarily before opening the safe, expecting the person in the closet to jump after him. Nothing happened, though; no stirring, no breathing, and still no heartbeat. Damon looked inside the safe and tried his best to control his expression.

There was no stone. The safe was utterly empty. A chill ran down Damon's spine.

Damon had triple-checked the safe before he left after Ric. Their passports and Jo's wedding ring had been in that safe. Someone had taken their things and was likely planning on making them disappear.

Damon took a brief detour to the bed, taking a minute to catch his breath and look concerned. He knew he had to get to Bonnie fast, but he had to play it cool. The thief was probably in the room with him, ready to kill him. Damon didn't look at the closet as he moved to the balcony, pretending to be frustrated and clueless.

It almost worked. Just as Damon was about to jump down, his senses went on high alert. He looked back just as the redhead's heel dug into his back.

Damon hit the iron railing before falling head-first off the balcony and into the alleyway. Narrowly, he corrected himself and landed on his feet with a crack.

The vampire tried to move on quickly, but his right ankle was aching from the fall. He was healing slowly, but he hobbled toward the main road away from the hotel. He looked up as the huntress made her graceful descent only seconds behind him. Instead of sticking the landing, she had rolled into it, erecting herself like a cat, blocking his path.

He finally noticed the young woman's slim figure. She was like a model dressed casually in a black romper. Gone were her stilettos; instead, she wore tactical boots. Damon couldn't see any weapons on her, but judging from the outfit change, she had been expecting him. More than likely, she had a stake stored away.

He turned around and headed to the crowd forming in the piazza, but his ankle was in bad shape. He could only skip forward while putting minimal pressure on his right side. Just as he was about to hit the edge of the alleyway, the huntress grabbed his right shoulder.

He pivoted around from her grasp and tried to land a defensive blow with his left arm, but he was off balance because of his injury. The huntress grabbed his left forearm and was going for his wrist when he sidestepped her by pulling his weight to his right and pulling his arm free.

He was now facing her when she seemed to fall forward for a second. He thought he had caught her off guard. She had only ducked lower and spun out to kick his legs from underneath him, right side first. The unexpected impact of her foot connecting with his lame right ankle sent him reeling downwards.

His brain jostled as his skull hit the concrete. The redhead was above him instantly, about to stick her boot into his chest, when he rolled to his right, barely avoiding her.

He got up quickly. Energy renewed by his desire to get even. He needed to take her down to get back to Bonnie and Ric. Somehow, she managed to get the drop on him, but the huntress wouldn't defeat him. He was going to make her regret even trying.

Damon squared up, and the huntress smirked at him, her sallow cheeks dimpled slightly. She looked like a feral cat, with her wild red hair burning in the afternoon light and her dark eyes glowing like dense obsidian with a ring of gray around the edges.

She brought out a small dagger-like stake, holding it sideways with her right hand. Her left hand was open, beckoning Damon forward.

Damon felt a chill run down his spine as he recognized blood lust in her eyes. He returned her smirk, unable to hide his excitement.

The vampire took a deep breath, concentrating on his opponent. He would simply disarm her, maybe break a limb just to keep her off his back so he could escape. If she were lucky, he wouldn't get carried away.

Damon vamped behind her to grab her arm, but she was ready, and her dagger was at his chest instantly. However, she didn't plunge it in; she simply backed away and reset herself.

He was pissed. The little thing was teasing him. His blood was boiling, but he hadn't forgotten to keep his composure. Damon calmed himself, this time aware that his opponent was far more skilled than she appeared. Perhaps she had fought a few vampires and was prepared for the brute force and speed of one. There was no point in overpowering her. He just had to out-match her.

He inched forward, and they began circling each other. Damon assessed the length of her arms and the reach of her legs. She was maybe only an inch shorter than him, and although she looked like a beanpole, he could tell she had hard-earned muscle. Judging from how quickly the huntress attacked him, the redhead was more robust than the average human. She was baby Gilbert strong. Which meant he was dealing with an actual hunter.

She rushed forward, leading with her knife hand aimed at his center mass. Damon rushed forward, locking her elbows into place and delivering a neat headbutt to her face.

Out of respect and some vindictiveness, he backed away as she assessed the damage to her bleeding nose. Damon could feel her blood burn his skin slightly. Horrified, he wiped it off with his fingers, and that is when she decided to attack.

She came at him quicker than any average human could and tried to kick his injured leg, but by this time, Damon healed. He didn't budge and, instead, tried to grab her leg. But she slipped away quickly and launched off her back foot, landing a kick to his now open face.

His jaw stung with that, but he wasn't down yet. He rushed forward, throwing some jabs the huntress's way as she backed up. He was trying to find an opening. Finally, she countered her right hand first again, this time cutting his cheek, but Damon managed to take control of her wrist, disarming her.

He was just about to yank her arm behind her back when she yanked her wrist free. She moved around quickly, blocking as Damon pursued. His punches glided off her forearms. He tried for one in the center, but she stopped it, guiding it downward. This time, Damon left his jaw open for her left hand. It was a punishing blow.

Damon backed away, a bit dizzy. He could taste the blood on his lower lip. It hurt as much as the vampire thought it would, maybe even more. She flew at him when he looked up again, landing a knee right underneath his chin. This time, when he fell, he couldn't get back up.

Damon's head was ringing and pulsating as if Bonnie had just given him an aneurysm. The huntress had a knee on his stomach before he managed to get his shoulders off the ground.

"Sayonara, vampiro," the woman crooned as she placed the wooden blade against his chest.

Looking into her dark gray eyes, he saw no mercy. Damon realized then that she had been toying with him. And now that she had her fun, the vampire would die. And there was nothing he could do about it.

Fear was just about to expel itself out of Damon in the most disgusting way when a voice called out loudly, taking the woman's attention from her vampire prey.

"Hey Buffy," Damon looked up to see his short-haired, five-foot-two-inch goddess standing menacingly in the alleyway or as menacing as a magical fairy could.

By some miracle, the huntress got up to face Bonnie, giving rise to a new slew of fears. Damon was worried that Bonnie would get hurt, but his worries were all for nothing.

"No one touches my vampire!"

With a forceful gust of magic similar to what knocked the male hunter down, Bonnie sent the huntress flying back. But the huntress was more brutal than her brethren; she was on her way up almost as soon as she landed. Bonnie pushed her down again, this time pinning her down almost as if a great weight was crushing her.

"Requiem in tempore," Bonnie commanded, putting the witch to sleep.

"You are fucking terrifying," Damon complimented," Remind me never to get on your wrong side."

"You are always on my bad side," Bonnie offered her hand, and Damon took it even though he mostly got up alone.

"Not on purpose; your good side is just tiny," he pinched his thumb and index finger. Bonnie slapped his stomach, and he pretended to be genuinely hurt.

"Stop before I hurt you," she warned," what the fuck is happening, and why can't I talk to Ric?"

Damon unfolded himself and looked at Bonnie seriously, unsure what to say. He still believed protecting her from the truth was the best option, but he wasn't sure if she would believe him. He had to hope she would listen.

"Look, Bonnie, I just need you to trust me on this," he rubbed her shoulders to help her calm down. He knew he was losing the argument when she pulled away.

"Trust you? How can I when you hide important things from me? Like, what the hell do these people want? And why can't I call Ric? How about that? Let's start with that."

Damon resisted the urge to roll his eyes and point out the irony of this conversation and instead tried to talk more soothingly.

"Bon-bon, please just trust me. Okay?"

"Don't patronize me, Damon. I know something is up, and that girl just tried to kill you, and I may be next."

"Bonnie, seriously, after all this time, do you think I would put you in mortal danger?"

"Do you want me to answer that question honestly, Salvatore?"

"Seriously, last names, come on. Are you trying to start a fight? Cause I don't want to be fighting with you right now."

"It's going to be a fight unless you tell me what the hell is going on," she growled the last bit through gritted teeth.

"The less you know, the better," he was practically begging, but Bonnie did not care.

Damon knew he was in for one hell of an aneurysm, and then his phone rang. He took it out of his pocket, hoping Ric was calling, but Bonnie had ripped it from his hand before he could read the caller ID.

"Ric, where the fuck are you?" Bonnie put the phone on speaker.

"If you are both headed to La Boqueria, don't."

"Who is this?" Bonnie asked.

"Charlie Townsend," Damon immediately recognized the Charlie's Angel

reference and snatched the phone from Bonnie's hand.

"Haha, very funny; who are you?"

"Don't worry about that right now, pops; it's do or die."

"Pops?"Damon didn't like the familiarity in this guy's tone.

"I have your friend."

Damon's blood ran cold.

"I'll tell you where to find him, but first, you must lose your tail."

"Where?"

"You've got three boggies at your 12 o'clock and two more coming on your three and four more on your 6."

Damon could see the men mobbing toward him and Bonnie. The ones to his left were pointing at the redhead's body. Any minute, they would see him and Bonnie and probably start attacking.

"Fine, where am I headed?"

"Meet me in the tower above the threshold of the saint, advocate of the poor and the orphaned."

"Just tell us where you are, you fuc-…" the caller hung up just before Bonnie could tear him a new one.

"Who was that?" Bonnie looked at Damon accustorily.

"No clue," Damon grabbed her arm, pulling her away from the market's direction," but we need to move on before our tails catch us."

"Advocate of the poor," Bonnie mumbled," I swear I heard that before."

Damon had only one option: his 9 o'clock back the way he came toward the Cathedral.

"Did he say advocate of the poor and orphaned?" Bonnie asked.

"Think so," Damon tried to push through a crowd still hanging around the cathedral after the noon service.

"Wait, wasn't that in that tour yesterday at the Cathedral? Saint, what's his face."

"Saint Ivo," Damon corrected, realizing that Bonnie was on to something," Fuck Watson, you are brilliant."

"Tell me something I don't know. So I guess we are heading to the Cathedral?"

Damon pulled Bonnie along, racing toward the Cathedral of Barcelona. The Cathedral, an assortment of architectural marvels, some desired and others a result of religious persecutions and conflicts of the years prior, was completed in the 1400s. Now, the Catedral de Barcelona looked like a glorious Gothic marvel that inspired masses to come and worship under its roof. Damon had chosen the Hotel Colon for its proximity to the Gothic Quarter and the Cathedral.

During his highest emotional conflict, he had turned to the Cathedral to get some sense of peace and perspective. The glory of its architecture never ceased to instill an ease into him.

The door of St. Ivo was a five-hundred-year-old structure no longer used as the main entrance. Tourists were required to enter off of Cometes Street. Damon guided them there, trying to keep a low profile so the people coming up on Cathedral Avenue wouldn't see him.

Damon and Bonnie managed to get to the door without being noticed, just as the Cathedral bell struck at 1:30 pm.

"Fuck do you have money?" Bonnie pointed to the sign that said they couldn't enter without paying.

"We don't need it, remember," Damon wrangled his eyebrows, hinting at his abilities.

"Seriously, you would steal from a church?" Bonnie looked at him incredulously.

"Yeah, well, didn't Jesus turn over the temple 'cause people were selling stuff?"

"I don't know, Damon, just pay the man," Bonnie chided him.

Damon reluctantly gave them ten euros. After seeing their arms intertwined, he wanted to take his money back as soon as he noticed a few of the dirty looks he and Bonnie were getting from the doorman. Damon just held on tighter. Damon wasn't sure if the man was just disturbed by their closeness or because of their differences, but he knew better than to let anyone think they could separate him and Bonnie in any way.

"Relax, Damon," Bonnie chastised," He was just disturbed by your inference that they shouldn't be selling tickets."

"How do you know?" he challenged but knew she was right. Bonnie was psychic, and every once in a while, she would say things like that and each time, she was a hundred percent correct.

"Not every place is like Florida, Damon," she rubbed his shoulder reassuringly. Damon tried not to think of the incident in Florida. It just made him want to set the whole state on fire.

"Whatever," Damon sighed," Let's find the elevator."

When Damon and Bonnie got upstairs, they headed straight for the tower and found nothing.

"Seriously, did we pay ten euros for nothing?"

"I don't know, Bonnie?" Damon said exasperated.

"Hey, don't get mad at me."

"I'm not mad," he said gruffly.

Then the phone rang.

Damon picked up this time," Where the fuck are you?"

Bonnie kept mouthing for Damon to put the phone on speaker.

"Oh, pops, did you think I'd be there?" Bonnie was reaching for the phone now, and Damon kept avoiding her hands in his face.

"I'm not enjoying these games, kid."

"Oh, just like old times, pops," Damon felt his temple tickle with familiarity.

"Damon!" Bonnie growled, but he just turned his back to her and walked away.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Unfortunately for you two, you haven't lost your tail. Up on your seven this time."

Damon could see several men making their way up, looking clueless.

"Don't worry though, I have a plan," the caller said," All you need to do is find the great count on his mount. You have much in common with this man, as your brother betrayed you both. Except in your case, blood was given rather than shed."

The line clicked, and Damon felt his heart drop; few people knew how he became a vampire. No one knew the truth except Stefan. At least, he believed that to be the case, but this guy, whoever he was, knew that it was his brother who condemned him to become the monster he was today, effectively killing the man he used to be.

"Seriously, Damon, you can't keep cutting me out here. I can help you."

"That sounds familiar," Damon rounded on Bonnie.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Damon saw the two men who exited the elevator take notice of him and Bonnie.

"Don't worry about it. I know where we are supposed to go."

"What do you mean!" he picked up Bonnie. He vamped his way off the rooftop, jumping to the next adjacent roof until he reached his destination, the Statue of Ramón Berenguer III the Great, the count who unified land in Barcelona through marriage and then got killed by his brother.

Josep Llimona created the statue; Damon remembered hearing about the statue after the man died a few years before Damon arrived in Barcelona. Llimona had been born only a year after being turned, yet he outlived him; he remembered being smugly proud of his immortality until he heard about who the statue was about.

That's when he started to recognize the deep grudge and the promise he made against his brother. He tried to let it go several times in life, but something would always happen to cause that hatred to rear its ugly head.

Beneath the statue was a Vespa parked illegally. Damon knew that was for them. Surprisingly, Bonnie wasn't protesting anymore; when he looked down, she had her eyes closed so tightly that he was worried she had gotten motion sickness.

"You alright there, uccellino?" Damon asked, surprised when she opened her eyes; they were glowing.

"I didn't know you could fly," she said, mystified.

"More like float," Bonnie held on to him as if afraid to let go.

"You okay, Bon-bon?"

"No, I hate heights. I hate Ferris wheels, roller coasters, anything that means going up and possibly falling."

"Ooops," Damon laughed as he set her down gently.

"I think I am going to puke," she spewed.

"Well, sorry, dearest. Do you think you can hold it long enough for us to take a ride to our next destination," Damon pointed to the downed Vespa, and he watched as Bonnie turned a deeper shade of green.

"¡Alto!" voices shouted from a group of men following Bonnie and Damon via the streets. They were going to draw their weapons and shoot.

"Fuck it," Bonnie ran to the Vespa, and Damon picked it up quickly so they could move ahead.

Damon hadn't been down the street for ten seconds before he heard a ringing in his pocket.

"Phone," he shouted back at Bonnie, and she bravely unclasped herself from him to fish it out of his front jeans pocket.

Thanks to his vampire hearing, Damon heard her despite the racket of the street and the deafening Vespa noises," Audrey Hepburn speaking."

"You're in a good mood for someone being chased," the caller said.

"Yeah, well, getting chased and almost murdered for something I have no clue about isn't exactly new for me."

"Wait, Pop's didn't tell you why you have hunters on your tail yet?"

"That's a big fat negatory, Charlie; you couldn't tell me?"

"Where are we going? And no more riddles," Damon interjected.

"Don't worry, pops. I'll let you tell the girl why her life is in danger," Damon stiffened; the last thing he needed was for Bonnie to believe that he was somehow putting her life at risk by not telling her everything. It was the opposite.

"First, how about you two get a drink? I'll text you the address."

"Turn left!" Bonnie shouted, putting the phone screen in Damon's face.

"God, Dammit it, I can't see," Damon veered left, hoping he wouldn't hit anyone.

"Sorry, turn here," she pointed her hand in the way instead of her phone.

"Are they following?"

"I don't see anyone turn left again."

Damon needed to find out if that meant that they were in the clear. Bonnie was only human, after all. It was doubtful she could see and sense all the danger around her.

"Over here, it's this building."

Damon decided to circle back a street over before getting off the block. He searched carefully around them to make sure he hadn't seen anything. They were safe for now.

"Let's go," Damon slapped Bonnie's butt to hurry her along, and he almost instantly regretted it.

"Damon Francesco Salvatore, did you just slap my ass," Bonnie rounded on him, and he had to grab her wrist and shoulders to keep her moving forward.

"It was friendly, I promise. Let's keep focused, Bennett," Damon moved them to the location he had seen on the GPS, Mariposa Negra - Cocteleria artisan.

The name of the building reminded him of a book he had read a decade or so ago about a pair of teenagers in Barcelona who stumble upon the secrets of an older man who found the key to immortality. The older man used the essence of the black butterfly that lived in the sewers to resurrect himself and add another 30 years to his life. Damon thought it was an enjoyable take on immortality, especially with how the black butterflies fed on their young once they returned to life.

Damon was starting to think that whoever had planned all this knew him very well, which scared him. He didn't know many people and never shared himself this way. He never shared openly except when he was with Bonnie. Everything this person knew about him could not have been from direct knowledge. Damon knew the guy on the line must have spent years with him. That narrowed the list down to no one; everyone who knew him long enough was either in Mystic Falls or dead.

Damon recognized they were close to the Basilica de Santa Maria del Mar. When they finally got to the building, Damon saw one large, rounded, green stained glass window sunken down as if partially buried beneath the old structure.

Damon led Bonnie down a flight of stairs to a large wooden door, but he couldn't hear anyone on the other side. It was about fifteen minutes before two o'clock, and the place looked closed; however, when Damon nudged the door, it opened.

The bar was dimly lit but beautifully enlightened by the afternoon sun shining through the color-stain glass windows. The bar felt sunken into the earth, surrounded by a dark wooden and old stone that looked like it had been adorning the wall for centuries, perhaps because it had been. The place felt like a wonderland where dark alchemy could be conjured and created.

"Wow, this place is beautiful; it almost feels like we are in the middle of a storybook," Bonnie sighed, looking around like a kid at an aquarium, not a maritime museum.

"Cause it probably is," he retorted, ready to share his book knowledge.

"Everything in Barcelona looks like a fairytale," she replied again, keeping him from sharing his true passion.

Bonnie laid her bag down on a bar stool to grab her phone.

"Oh, now you're trying to take a picture?"

"What? No, I am calling Ric."

Damon vamped to the phone faster than Bonnie could blink, stealing it from her.

"What's your problem?"

"My problem is that you don't trust me."

"Like I said, I'd trust you when you tell me what is happening."

"That's not trust Bonnie. It's the exact opposite of trust."

"Damon, we are in a lot of trouble. Ric is most certainly in danger. I can help you, but you must let me do that!"

"Help Bonnie, you trying to call Ric is not helping!"

Damon put his hands in his hair. He wanted to pull his hair out; no one infuriated him like Bonnie.

"You have to admit this is ironic," she muttered, kicking her foot against the ground.

"Ironic?" he looked at her incredulous.

"Yeah, you kept telling me I need to trust you with things, and now I am asking you to trust me with things, but you won't listen."

"What's ironic is you telling me to be patient and mind my business while you scream at the top of your lungs that I need to tell you everything. Well, maybe Bonnie, I will tell you what's up once we are out of danger. Did you ever think of that?"

"Bullshit,"

"What?"

"Bullshit, you won't tell me what's going on 'cause there is more than just this current situation that 's bothering you."

"Like what?"

"Well, you are mad cause I asked for space this morning and are being passive-aggressive right now."

"Right, Bonnie, 'cause I am making all this effort to protect you and keep you safe from a bunch of people trying to kill us because I'm upset that you wouldn't let me read your diary."

"One, it's not a diary, Damon. It was a letter. And two people trying to kill us means my life is in mortal danger."

Damon grabbed the air around Bonnie's head and squeezed it in each fist. He was shaking with anger and growling through his teeth. Her smug little smile worked hard not to appear on his face. He sighed, letting it go, realizing he wouldn't win. Plan B: change the subject.

"Drink?"

"Sure."

Damon jumped across the counter and poured two shots of Cava for them.

"Why's mine so tiny?" Bonnie asked, whining; he rolled his eyes.

"Stop whining," he downed his and poured another," And it's because we are on the run. You little tweety bird need to keep both feet on the ground."

Bonnie tipped her back, smiling as she slammed the glass," Wine, me like. Pour me another."

"What did I just say?"

"You can carry me if I am too sloshed," she offered, smiling, and Damon couldn't resist her. She was just too cute when she was smiling. He poured her another shot, this time a little heftier.

"Salu," she clinked his glass and knocked hers back like a champ. Damon thought back to that night they first danced. They were drinking wine then, and Bonnie had challenged him to a dance-off as if they were in some 90's teen movie. They got so sloppy that they thought testing their ballroom dance knowledge was exemplary. The only problem was they had no clue where to put the radio so they couldn't change the station. So they were left with slow dancing to an old Nat King Cole song.

"Cincin," Damon responded before swallowing his whole.

Bonnie hummed the words to their song, singing an edited version of the second line aloud, " The very thought of you makes me want to puke."

They both giggled, and Damon decided to dance his way from behind the bar with the bottle of mezcal. Bonnie clapped as he showed off, and for a moment, he felt they were safe at home again.

Damon sat beside Bonnie, studying the stained glass, waiting for what he had suddenly forgotten. He was just happy and desperate to stay there.

"Okay, you're right. That letter you had no business reading was more like a diary page than an actual letter," Damon smiled, feeling triumphant; she was opening up to him.

"Which makes it even more reason for you not to read it. But if you must know, nothing about that letter was directed at you specifically. Believe it or not, much more is happening in my life than just you."

Damon momentarily felt the stabbing pain of her rejection, but he decided to push away his frustration and just listen. Damon had jumped to the conclusion that the letter was really about him. He had even twisted it into some backward confession on her part. He thought he would have to unpack later, but for now, he just needed to understand her.

"So what's eating you then, Gilbert Grape."

"Jesus Fucking Christ, would you give it a rest, Damon. Now isn't the time."

"Okay, one, hasn't anyone ever taught you not to curse the name of the good Lord? And two, what better time than the present?"

"Seriously?" Bonnie shouted, and not a moment after he spoke those words, someone opened the backdoor to the bar.

"Ric, where the fuck are you?" Bonnie put the phone on speaker.

"Don't go to La Boqueria."

"Who is this?" Bonnie asked.

"Charlie Townsend," Damon immediately recognized Charlie's Angel reference and snatched the phone from Bonnie's hand.

"Haha, very funny; who are you?"

"Don't worry about that right now, pops; it's do or die."

"Pops?"Damon didn't like the familiarity in this guy's tone, almost like he knew him.

"I have your friend."

Damon's blood ran cold.

"I'll tell you where to find him, but first, you must lose your tail."

"Where?"

"You've got three boggies at your 12 o'clock and two more coming on your three and four more on your 6."

Damon could see the men mobbing toward him and Bonnie. The ones to his left were pointing at the redhead's body. Any minute, they would see him and

Bonnie will probably start attacking.

"Fine, where am I headed?"

"Meet me in the tower above the threshold of the saint, advocate of the poor and the orphaned."

"Just tell us where you are, you fuc-…" the caller hung up just before Bonnie could tear him a new one.

"Who was that?" Bonnie looked at Damon accustorily.

"No clue," Damon grabbed her arm, pulling her away from the market's direction," but we need to move on before our tails catch us."

"Advocate of the poor," Bonnie mumbled," I swear I heard that before."

Damon had only one option: his 9 o'clock back the way he came toward the Cathedral.

"Did he say advocate of the poor and orphaned?" Bonnie asked.

"Think so," Damon tried to push through a crowd still hanging around the cathedral after the noon service.

"Wait, wasn't that in that tour yesterday at the Cathedral? St, what's his face."

"Saint Ivo," Damon corrected, realizing that Bonnie was on to something," Fuck Watson, you are brilliant."

"Tell me something I don't know. So I guess we are heading to the Cathedral?"

Damon pulled Bonnie along, racing toward the Cathedral de Barcelona. The cathedral was an assortment of architectural marvels resulting from religious persecutions and conflicts of the years before its completion in the 1400s. Now, the Catedral de Barcelona primarily looked like a glorious Gothic paragon that inspired masses to come and worship under its roof. Damon had chosen the Hotel Colon for its proximity to the Gothic Quarter and the Cathedral.

During his highest emotional conflict, he had turned to the Cathedral to get some sense of peace and perspective. The glory of its architecture never ceased to instill an ease into him.

They headed to the door of St. Ivo, a five-hundred-year-old structure that was no longer the main entrance. Tourists were required to enter off of Cometes Street. Damon guided them there, trying to keep a low profile so the people coming up on Cathedral Avenue wouldn't see him.

Damon and Bonnie managed to get to the door without being noticed, just as the Cathedral bell struck at 1:30 pm.

"Fuck do you have money?" Bonnie pointed to the sign that said they couldn't enter without paying.

"We don't need it, remember," Damon wrangled his eyebrows, hinting at his abilities.

"Seriously, you would steal from a church?" Bonnie looked at him incredulously.

"Yeah, well, didn't Jesus turn over the temple 'cause people were selling stuff?"

"I don't know, Damon, just pay the man," Bonnie chided him.

Damon reluctantly gave them ten euros. After seeing their arms intertwined, he wanted to take his money back as soon as he noticed a few of the dirty looks he and Bonnie were getting from the doorman. Damon just held on tighter. Damon wasn't sure if the man was just disturbed by their closeness to each other or because of their differences, but he knew better than to let men think he could separate him and Bonnie in any way.

"Relax, Damon," Bonnie chastised," He was just disturbed by your inference that they shouldn't be selling tickets."

"How do you know?" he challenged but knew she was right.

Bonnie was psychic, and every once in a while, she would say things like that and each time, she was a hundred percent correct.

"Not every place is like Florida, Damon," she rubbed his shoulder reassuringly.

Damon tried not to think of Florida. It just made him want to set the whole state on fire.

"Whatever," Damon sighed," Let's find the elevator."

When Damon and Bonnie got upstairs, they headed straight for the tower and found nothing.

"Seriously, did we pay ten euros for nothing?"

"I don't know, Bonnie?" Damon said exasperated.

"Hey, don't get mad at me."

"I'm not mad," he said gruffly.

Then the phone rang.

Damon picked up this time," Where the fuck are you?"

Bonnie kept mouthing for Damon to put the phone on speaker.

"Oh, pops, did you think I'd be there?" Bonnie was reaching for the phone now, and Damon kept avoiding her hands in his face.

"I'm not enjoying these games, kid."

"Oh, just like old times, pops," Damon felt his temple tickle with familiarity.

"Damon!" Bonnie growled, but he just turned his back to her and walked away.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Unfortunately for you two, you haven't lost your tail. Up on your seven this time."

Damon could see several men making their way up, looking clueless.

"Don't worry though, I have a plan," the caller said," All you need to do is find the great count on his mount. You have much in common with this man, as your brother betrayed you both. Except in your case, blood was given rather than shed."

The line clicked, and Damon felt his heart drop; few people knew how he became a vampire. No one knew the truth except Stefan. At least, he believed that to be the case, but this guy, whoever he was, knew that it was his brother who condemned him to become the monster he was today, effectively killing the man he used to be.

"Seriously, Damon, you can't keep cutting me out here. I can help you."

"That sounds familiar," Damon rounded on Bonnie.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Damon saw the two men who exited the elevator take notice of him and Bonnie.

"Don't worry about it. I know where we are supposed to go."

"What do you mean!" he picked up Bonnie. He vamped his way off the rooftop, jumping to the next adjacent roof until he reached his destination.

The Statue of Ramón Berenguer III the Great, the count who unified land in Barcelona through marriage and died by his brother's hand, a familiar betrayal to which Damon could relate.

Beneath the statue was a Vespa parked illegally. Damon knew that was for them. Surprisingly, Bonnie wasn't protesting anymore; when he looked down, she had her eyes closed so tightly that he was worried she had gotten motion sickness.

"You alright there, uccellino?" Damon asked, surprised when she opened her eyes; they were glowing.

"I didn't know you could fly," she said, mystified.

"More like float," he replied.

"You okay, Bon-bon?" Bonnie held on to him as if afraid to let go.

"No, I hate heights. I hate Ferris wheels, roller coasters, anything that means going up and possibly falling."

"Ooops," Damon laughed as he set her down gently.

"I think I am going to puke," she spewed.

"Well, sorry, dearest. Do you think you can hold it long enough for us to take a ride to our next destination," Damon pointed to the downed Vespa, and he watched as Bonnie turned a deeper shade of green.

"¡Alto!" voices shouted from a group of men following Bonnie and Damon via the streets. They were going to draw their weapons and shoot.

"Fuck it," Bonnie ran to the Vespa, and Damon picked it up quickly so they could move ahead.

Damon hadn't been down the street for ten seconds before he heard a ringing in his pocket.

"Phone," he shouted back at Bonnie, and she bravely unclasped herself from him to fish it out of his front jeans pocket.

Thanks to his vampire hearing, Damon heard her despite the racket of the street and the incredibly loud vespa," Audrey Hepburn speaking."

"You sound in a good mood despite being chased," the caller said.

"Yeah, well, getting chased and almost murdered for something I have no clue about isn't exactly new for me."

"Wait, Pop's didn't tell you?"

"That's a big fat negatory, Charlie; you couldn't tell me? Could you?"

"Where are we going? And no more riddles," Damon interjected.

"Don't worry, pops. I'll let you explain the life-threatening shit going on," Damon stiffened; the last thing he needed was for Bonnie to believe that he was somehow putting her life at risk by not telling her everything. It was the opposite.

"First, how about you two get a drink? I'll text you the address."

"Turn left!" Bonnie shouted, putting the phone screen in Damon's face.

"God, Dammit it, I can't see," Damon veered left, hoping he wouldn't hit anyone.

"Sorry, turn here," she pointed her hand in the way instead of her phone.

"Are they following?"

"I don't see anyone turn left again."

Damon needed to find out if that meant that they were in the clear. Bonnie was only human, after all. It was doubtful she could see and sense all the danger around her.

"Over here, it's this building."

Damon decided to circle back a street over before getting off the block. He searched carefully around them to make sure he hadn't seen anything. They were safe for now.

"Let's go," Damon slapped Bonnie's butt to hurry her along, and he almost instantly regretted it.

"Damon Salvatore, did you just slap my ass," Bonnie rounded on him, and he had to grab her wrist and shoulders to keep her moving forward.

"It was friendly, I promise. Let's keep focused, Bennett," Damon moved them to the location he had seen on the GPS, Mariposa Negra - Cocteleria artisan.

The name of the building reminded him of a book he had read a decade or so ago about a pair of teenagers in Barcelona who stumble upon the secrets of an older man who found the key to immortality. The older man used the essence of the black butterfly that lived in the sewers to resurrect himself and add another 30 years to his life. Damon thought it was an enjoyable take on immortality, especially with how the black butterflies fed on their young once they returned to life.

Damon was starting to think that whoever had planned all this knew him very well; it scared him. He wasn't that open with people. Damon never shared openly except with Bonnie. Everything this person knew about him made Damon believe he spent years with the man. That narrowed the list down to no one; everyone who knew him long enough was either in Mystic Falls or dead.

Damon recognized they weren't far from the Basilica de Santa Maria del Mar. When they finally got to the building, Damon saw one large, rounded, green stained glass window sunken down as if partially buried beneath the old structure.

Damon led Bonnie down a flight of stairs to a large wooden door, but he couldn't hear anyone on the other side. It was about fifteen minutes before two o'clock, and the place looked closed; however, when Damon nudged the door, it opened.

The bar was dimly lit but beautifully enlightened by the afternoon sun shining through the color-stain glass windows. The bar felt sunken into the earth, surrounded by a dark wooden and old stone that looked like it had been adorning the wall for centuries, perhaps because it had been. The place felt like a wonderland where dark alchemy could be conjured and created.

"Wow, this place is beautiful; it almost feels like we are in the middle of a storybook," Bonnie sighed, looking around like a kid at an aquarium, not a maritime museum.

"Cause it probably is," he retorted, ready to share his book knowledge.

"Everything in Barcelona looks like a fairytale," she replied again, keeping him from sharing his true passion.

Bonnie laid her bag down on a bar stool to grab her phone.

"Oh, now you're trying to take a picture?"

"What? No, I am calling Ric."

Damon vamped to the phone faster than Bonnie could blink, stealing it from her.

"What's your problem?"

"My problem is that you don't trust me."

"Like I said, I'd trust you when you tell me what is happening."

"That's not trust Bonnie. It's the exact opposite of trust."

"Damon, we are in a lot of trouble. Ric is most certainly in danger. I can help you, but you must let me do that!"

"Help Bonnie, you trying to call Ric is not helping!" Damon put his hands in his hair. He wanted to pull his hair out; no one infuriated him like Bonnie.

"You have to admit this is ironic," she muttered, kicking her foot against the ground.

"Ironic?" he looked at her incredulous.

"Yeah, you kept telling me I need to trust you with things, and now I am asking you to trust me with things, but you won't listen."

"What's ironic is you telling me to be patient and mind my business while you scream at the top of your lungs that I need to tell you everything. Well, maybe Bonnie, I will tell you what's up once we are out of danger. Did you ever think of that?"

"Bullshit."

"What?"

"Bullshit, you won't tell me what's going on 'cause there is more than just this current situation that 's bothering you."

"Like what?"

"Well, you are mad cause I asked for space this morning and are being passive-aggressive right now."

"Right, Bonnie, 'cause I am making all this effort to protect you and keep you safe from a bunch of people trying to kill us because I'm upset that you wouldn't let me read your diary."

"One, it's not a diary, Damon. It was a letter. And two people trying to kill us means my life is in mortal danger."

Damon grabbed the air around Bonnie's head and squeezed it in each fist. He was shaking with anger and growling through his teeth. Bonnie's smug little smile worked hard not to appear on her face. He sighed, letting it go, realizing he wouldn't win. Plan B: change the subject.

"Drink?"

"Sure."

Damon jumped across the counter and poured two shots of Cava for them.

"Why's mine so tiny?" Bonnie asked, whining; he rolled his eyes.

"Stop whining," he downed his and poured another," And it's because we are on the run. You little tweety bird need to keep both feet on the ground."

Bonnie tipped hers back, smiling as she slammed the glass," Wine, me like. Pour me another."

"What did I just say?"

"You can carry me if I am too sloshed," she offered, smiling, and Damon couldn't resist her. She was just too cute when she was smiling. He poured her another shot, this time a little heftier.

"Salu," she clinked his glass and knocked hers back like a champ. Damon thought back to that night they first danced. They were drinking wine then, and Bonnie had challenged him to a dance-off as if they were in some 90's teen movie. They got so sloppy that they thought testing their ballroom dance knowledge was exemplary. The only problem was they had no clue where to put the radio so they couldn't change the station. So they were left with slow dancing to an old Nat King Cole song.

"Cincin," Damon responded before swallowing his whole.

Bonnie hummed the words to their song, singing an edited version of the second line aloud, " The very thought of you makes me want to puke."

They both giggled, and Damon decided to dance his way from behind the bar with the bottle of Cava. Bonnie clapped as he showed off, and for a moment, he felt they were safe at home again. Damon sat beside Bonnie, studying the stained glass, waiting for what he had suddenly forgotten. The vampire was suddenly happy and desperate to stay there, make a home in this little underground bar, and immerse himself in their little world.

"Okay, you're right. That letter you had no business reading was more like a diary page than an actual letter," Damon smiled, feeling triumphant; she was opening up to him.

"Which makes it even more reason for you not to read it. But if you must know, nothing about that letter was directed at you specifically. Believe it or not, much more is happening in my life than just you."

Damon momentarily felt the stabbing pain of her rejection, but he decided to push away his frustration and just listen. Damon had jumped to the conclusion that the letter was really about him. He had even twisted it into some backward confession on her part. He thought he would have to unpack later, but for now, he just needed to understand her.

"So what's eating you then, Gilbert Grape."

"Jesus Fucking Christ, would you give it a rest, Damon. Now isn't the time."

"Okay, one, hasn't anyone ever taught you not to curse the name of the good Lord? And two, what better time than the present?"

"Seriously?" Bonnie shouted, and not a moment after he spoke those words, someone opened the backdoor to the bar.

Bonnie noticed him before Damon did; he was still staring at her, trying to pick her brain with his smoldering glare. Damon saw a soft smile and a bottomless blush flash across her face as she acknowledged whoever walked through the door.

Damon's eyes met those of another much taller man, six foot five perhaps. He was an incredibly handsome black man of about twenty-five, maybe a few years older, but he couldn't be sure. Damon thought his skin looked like the color of chestnuts softened by cream. He wasn't sure how to describe it in actual color terms, but it was warm and gentle. His facial hair and lashes starkly contrasted his skin, a deep dark black cut short framing his mouth and chin fading out at his hairline. The man's head hair was cut low but thick at the top as if his woolen hair would leap any moment.

"Long time no see," Damon recognized this man was guiding them over the phone.

As Damon studied the man, the man studied him as if waiting for acknowledgment. Damon looked at the man's dark eyes, but they were unfamiliar.

"Can't you recognize me, pops?" the man's eyes went red, and his veins grew darker around his face. Large fangs appeared, descending to the man's lower lip. The vampire looked at Bonnie with an open mouth, but she didn't squirm away. She stood her ground; his mask faded as quickly as it came.

On the other hand, Damon felt his veins burst out, responding to the threat of another vampire in front of him. His mind was racing, trying to figure out the best attack. On high alert, Damon finally noticed the familiar smell of the other creatures, like popcorn, Pop Rocks, and warn-out comic books.

"Benny?"

"So you two know each other?" Bonnie asked, grabbing the closest available glass and pouring Ben a drink. He studied her for a moment, then took the drink and swallowed it down; wine was not his favorite.

"Oh yeah, me and pops go way back," Ben let his vampiric mask go,

"So you call him pops 'cause…"

"He's my maker."

Damon stared at Benny, stunned. He had committed what he considered one of the gravest of sins again. Damon damned another to the life of a vampire. Unlike with Vicky, this hurt him because he left Benny to protect him. Benny had a life and an optimistic future as an average person. Once again, Damon proved himself a monster, even though this was an accident.

Damon's eyes flitted to the necklace around Benny's neck, his last parting gift to his son only to be used in life-threatening emergencies. Damon had only meant it to heal the kid if something terrible happened to him or his mother. The elder vampire felt his heart sink to his stomach. He wished Hades would swallow him whole so that he could get his punishment over with.

"Why?

"Why what?"

"Are you helping me-us?"

"I would be dead without you."

"And…" Bonnie interjected, sensing that Ben was holding something back.

"And I ran into your friend Ric earlier. I had gotten intel that an associate of mine was a target. I don't know if all that business had to do with your friend and all the chatter around New York earlier this summer, but I thought I'd lend a hand. I got them both out to Amsterdam."

"Not explaining why you are helping us."

"Just considered this me wiping the slate clean, pops. You help my friends, and I will owe you one. "

"The next train out will be there in about twenty minutes. Here are your tickets and passport."

"How did you get these?" Bonnie asked, picking one up to check that they were indeed their passports. Benny slid the ring box to Damon while Bonnie looked over their documentation, giving Damon a strange, secretive wink. Damon didn't bother reading into it. He was still in shock.

"You can thank the people I need you to do a favor for," Ben shouted to the backroom, and out came the red-headed huntress, who the same red-headed huntress followed, "Meet Meredith and Christina Sualez."

"Is this a joke," Damon growled, standing up, prepared to attack first.

"Afraid not, pops," Ben sighed, pushing the girls behind him. Damon had seen Ben do that a lot when he was younger. Protecting others from him, the way he had protected people from Gisueppe. Damon sat down, trying to cool himself.

"Look, you wouldn't be alive if it weren't for their intel. They were trying to capture you safely, but things got out of hand."

"Out of hand? That one tried to kill me," Damon growled back, locking eyes with the twin dressed in black, the one who had almost slain him. Her eyes were a malevolent gray, the irises still as vast and dark as when she first tried to kill him.

"An unfortunate mistake on my sister Meredith's part," the other one said, her eyes olive grey. She was the woman from earlier in the day who had slapped the yellow-haired hunter Damon had beaten to smithereens. She blushed a little when the vampire took notice of her.

Damon noticed the twin was gorgeous, like her sister, but everything about her was more approachable and softer. She was cute but still looked like her sister, making Damon uncomfortable. Suddenly, he understood what Silas meant.

"I don't think it was a mistake on her part," Damon looked back to the grey-eyed harpy staring him down. The vampire shifted his weight between his legs to see if her eyes were following. She was like a trained dog, never taking her eyes off the prize and never blinking.

"My sister is newly turned," Christina pleaded," Young hunters operate with a sense of bloodlust that is hard for them to control."

"Your sister is a hunter? What about you?" Bonnie asked.

"That's why we need to leave," Meredith said, closing her eyes slowly before looking at Bonnie.

"I-I didn't make the transition," Christina looked down ashamed," The only way La Familia lets witches like me and my sister live is by us transitioning into Hunters. They kill any supernatural creature they can find unless it is helpful to them."

La Familia was Spanish and similar in meaning to the Latin Genus. Damon understood now that they were dealing with the Spanish branch of an organization he had heard mention of once or twice. He never stayed in Europe long enough to catch their attention and never in Europe when they were strong—just his luck.

"This place is a haven for the supernatural," Ben said," I've got places around the world just like it."

Damon studied his son. Ben was looking at Bonnie, but he could hear the bragging. In some way, Ben was still trying to impress his father.

"Running circles around several different hunter groups, wonder where you learned that from?"

Ben looked at Damon. It wasn't favorable or unkind, perhaps just a bit reserved. But his words were far more cutting," Just something I picked up from a bum I used to know."

Damon swallowed, looking away quickly, before taking another swig of his wine. Bonnie's hand went to his back, and he looked at her briefly, but she was too busy entertaining everyone else.

"So what is this favor we can help with?" Bonnie asked, easing the tension. Somehow, Damon felt himself grow steadier, calmer, and more grounded.

"The plan is to get all four of you to Amsterdam. No Familia has taken up shop there once you return to the States. I need you to provide the girls safe passage to this person."

Ben put out a business card. The words written in gold were Aurelia, which Damon knew meant the Gold One. He had been told as much by his grandmother, ever the champion for Latin and ancient Roman history.

"How do you expect us to get them to this?"

"My mother knows her. They are in a coven together." Bonnie replied," I can give you her number."

Christina looked excited," Oh my gosh, I am so honored. Incredible, the Great Bennett witch and The Aurelia are teaming up together. We are in magical times."

Meredith didn't appear any different but did look a little less menacing as if her sister's happiness had somehow put her at ease.

"You know about the Bennetts?" Bonnie asked, looking uncomfortable.

"Who doesn't," Christina put her wrists together, her hands balled in excitement," the Bennetts are only the most powerful bloodline of witches in the world. It's a shame we had to meet under such stressful circumstances, but still, I am happy to meet you, Bonnie Bennett."

"Likewise," Meredith stated, a small smile flashing briefly.

Bonnie returned the smile, but Damon knew she was uncomfortable. The witch didn't handle praise very well. Damon knew she wasn't aware of people's reverence for the Bennetts. Sheila had kept her world small to protect her. Damon hoped to tell her all about it, but when she was ready to ask.

"I warn you, though, this coven has vampires and witches. So your sister has got to behave," Damon warned, looking at Christina. She looked terrified, and he felt a little wrong for pushing her. She was the weaker of the two.

"I will behave," Meredith stated, but the words sounded too smooth as if she hadn't lost control and tried to kill him, as if Damon had no reason to worry.

"Seriously though," Bonnie warned, and Meredith's smile fell before she nodded in her direction.

"Great, now that we have cleared that up, how about a drink?"Ben was opening a bottle of some dark liquid Damon hoped was bourbon. Thankfully, it was. Everyone got a glass, but Damon poured some of Bonnie's into his. She gave him a dirty look, but he knew she would be grateful for it later.

"To the future," Christina cheered, and Damon knew she had the kind of infectious happiness that would soften his heart. She'd always have her sister's face, but she wasn't her sister.

"To the future," Meredith cheered, smiling, but it did nothing for Damon.

"To the future," Bonnie responded, looking at both women as if she saw something she missed. Perhaps her sister.

"To the future," Ben stated, finally looking at Damon. The vampire saw bits of the boy he once knew in the man's eyes. The same brownish hazel color reflected hopeful innocents that he couldn't understand, that he couldn't destroy and needed to protect.

"To the future," Damon raised his glass, looking at his son, unsure what the future meant for them. When he lowered his glass and his eyes caught Bonnie's, he knew her brain was swirling with many questions. He wasn't sure how to answer most of them.

The rough banging on the front door meant he didn't have to.

"Fuck," Ben put his glass down before grabbing a gun from his back pocket.

Damon's instincts were to follow behind his son and check the door with him, but Bonnie still had a hand on him. The vampire knew he had to protect her.

Meredith was protecting her sister, her little wooden knife ready.

Bonnie removed her hand from Damon's back and started to follow after Ben," Let them in."

"Are you crazy?" Ben asked.

"No, you just need to trust me," she offered, sounding incredibly sure, but Damon wouldn't listen.

"We need to leave," he told Ben, giving him the look.

"Back door is out the way I came," he pointed with his forehead," Meredith, take the lead."

Damon didn't protest. He would rather the first one to get hit with a stray bullet to be her instead of him.

"I think we should listen to Bonnie," Christina chirped lowly.

"Not happening," Damon grabbed Bonnie, pulling her along. Unfortunately for her, Cava made her easy to knock over, another reason Damon couldn't let her face off with the people behind the door.

"Seriously, though," Christina spoke up, this time a little louder," this might sound a bit crazy, but I am a bit psychic. I think we will be okay."

"Let's go, lightweight," Meredith pushed her sister forward to the backroom.

Ben was following along, closely behind Damon and Bonnie.

"Where are we going to now, Benny boy," Damon asked, a wave of nostalgia hitting him as he said his son's least favorite nickname.

"Fucking hate that," Ben growled under his breath before speaking up," To the left, that door should lead outward."

Meredith braced herself; she opened the door to find a gun pointed at her face. She backed away on instinct, letting the two hunters enter slowly. Fortunately for Damon, they were stupid and didn't look to their left. Ben shot the one closest to the door, and Damon managed to vamp to the other, draining him and finally ending that blood lust.

"Down Helsing," Bonnie shouted at Meredith, who was staring at Damon like he was a full-course meal.

Damon's fangs and veins retracted. He was aware he was in grave danger. Something in him, something primordial, was telling him to run.

"Damon," Bonnie warned, sensing he was on the run.

"Bad idea, Dad!" Ben was shouting, but it was too late. Damon was out the door.

Damon couldn't explain what came over him. His best example was the way Bonnie sometimes hypnotized him with her eyes. Bonnie always managed to calm him down, but Meredith had the opposite effect. She made him want to run for his life.

Damon's mind was so preoccupied that he didn't notice he was running toward a group of hunters. The hunters' weapons were ready to shoot him; however, Damon was on high alert. He tore through the pack of them quickly before running toward the direction of the Balearic sea. Meredith had commandeered a motorcycle, preparing for the high-speed chase.

Damon vamped away, but Meredith wasn't far behind. Damon could feel in the distance a tug telling him to slow down. Almost like Bonnie's voice begged him to stay, but he ignored it.

Damon's only hope would be to get on the train, any train, just as long as he was away from the demoness trying to kill him. Meredith managed to catch up to him and threw her bike at him, knocking him off his feet a block from the Train Station.

Meredith stood tall, ready to take Damon out. Again, Damon felt that deep fear that would cause his bowels to quiver. He was going to die.

A black SUV came pulling behind her, staggering onto the street and hitting Meredith's motorcycle. Luckily, that got her attention, and Damon took that opportunity to attack.

Damon managed to grab the huntress by the throat, but it wasn't without a sacrifice. Meredith had a dagger to his neck, and it was digging in, threatening to decapitate him if he pushed her any further.

Bonnie came running out of the SUV, magically pulling them apart. Damon fell flat on his ass for a second before he got up, ready to go for the downed huntress again. However, Ben was already there, using all his vampire strength to contain him.

"We don't have time for this pops," he growled. Those hunters will be here any minute, and we must leave."

Damon kept pushing forward, ignoring what his son was saying. He knew the huntress would kill him if he didn't strike first.

"Please stop this, Resa," Christina cried, holding her sister back feebly.

Damon knew the huntress was resisting the urge to swat her sister away. It was a weakness he wasn't willing to succumb to. Damon pushed Ben away, launching him in the air.

Meredith shoved her sister down, squaring up, ready for his attack. Damon knew better than to attack her head-on. He had a plan involving using her sister as a meat shield. Before Damon could exact his revenge, he heard a voice clear, powerful, familiar in his head.

"I said stop," Bonnie shouted in his mind.

Damon felt strange, as if compelled; he slowed his momentum.

"Calm down," she stated again, her words pulsating through him like waves of sound, vibrating through him, hypnotizing his mind and influencing his heartbeat. Even Damon's blood was humming with obedience.

Damon could see Meredith's pupils dilate and then constrict. She was looking at him, but he no longer felt the heat of her murderous intent. Damon felt nothing toward her either. She was just another person.

However, looking at Bonnie, he felt like he was on fire. It's similar to being alight with passion but better. It felt more like kin to worship, like an undying devotion to performing her imbued will. It was better than compulsion. It was grateful obedience. It terrified him how good it felt.

Bonnie was glowing in radiant light, a halo around her head like a vision of a deity. Damon wanted immediately to go to her feet and praise her. The only thing that kept him from doing so was an understanding that it wasn't his will. He wanted to kiss her, and that feeling he often buried was impossible to ignore. He was on his way to do the very thing he shouldn't when a stray bullet whizzed by him.

Bonnie had pushed him to the ground roughly, nearly missing the bullet herself, her forehead colliding with the pavement under his arm as he landed on his back. Muffled by several vehicles nearing them from the road, Damon couldn't hear her scream.

Damon looked up to see a few men on motorcycles coming their way, dressed in all black. Based on the angle, whoever shot at Damon had to have been a sniper. They were sitting ducks in the open plaza. They needed to get to cover.

Damon picked Bonnie up, running toward the direction of the train. Damon ran as fast as he could. The sniper's muffled shots landed only a second behind his feet.

Ben was up before him, looking toward the twins, caught behind the car, hiding from the incoming fire. Damon could see he was about to go out there and risk getting shot by the bullets and instead shoved him forward into the train station.

"Let me go," Ben shouted as Damon tried to drag him by the collar while holding Bonnie, who was holding onto him like he was Frank Farmer and she was Rachel.

"You'll get killed," Damon shouted, drawing the attention of a few people who were looking around for fireworks in the nearby area.

"I have to save them," Ben shouted," I promised them. That's my job."

Bonnie whispered in his ear, sounding weak," We have to help."

Damon felt her words tug at him, but it wasn't from her compulsion. It was a request.

"No," he answered, prepared to start running, but felt himself tugging something heavy behind him.

Damon turned around to look behind him. He could see Bonnie's upraised hand out of the corner of his eye, and the black SUV Ben and the witches had arrived in was moving forward slightly.

"Help," Bonnie stated through gritted teeth, and Damon knew she was holding on to that truck for dear life and would not let go.

Damon kept walking forward, using all his strength to help Bonnie bridge the gap from where she had already started pulling the SUV in.

Finally, the SUV got closer to the entrance, and Ben darted out faster than any human could see and grabbed the girls. A few people who saw them started to cheer in surprise at what they had seen. A few cameras went up to capture it. Damon wanted to grab as many people as possible to compete with them but remembered they didn't have time as the motorcycle hunters started getting closer.

Damon ran with Bonnie, following Ben, who held onto both girls. No one saw them as they disappeared into thin air. Damon was sure he would have a hell of a time finding out who posted those videos to get them scrubbed from the internet.

The train was only a few seconds from departing when they boarded. Ben led them to the back of first class, where they were alone except for a few others.

Meredith and Christina took their seats at the front. At the same time, Damon took the seat on the left, closer to the middle of the car.

Damon set Bonnie down gently by the window seat when the vampire noticed the witch looked pale. Her hairline was covered in blood dripping down her face.

"You okay, Bon-Bon?" he asked, taking her hand. The sight of her blood caused him to feel desperate rather than thirsty.

She blinked her eyes slowly," Fine, just a little dizzy."

Damon didn't even bother calling her out for lying. He just started examining her, checking her for any bumps on her head that were too big and might cause her to transition rather than heal. Damon couldn't be sure of what was happening on the inside, but the vampire could only hope nothing they would both regret would happen. If Bonnie became a vampire, that meant he was a failure.

He inhaled through gritted teeth as he apologized for not being more careful.

"The great Damon Salvatore apologizing?" Bonnie feigned shock, but her face didn't move. She looked so tired, drained of a lot of blood from the injury.

"Don't get used to it," Damon flagged down the attendant, looking for a towel and a blanket. He would need to feed Bonnie his blood but preferred it to be discrete.

"You called sir," the attendant answered pleasantly in English, but when he looked up at the man, a USP 9mm was pointed at his nose.

"I guess that's a no on getting a glass of bourbon to go with that order," Bonnie stood up behind him, the attendant's gun pointing in her direction briefly before returning to Damon.

Damon stood up, trying to block the attendant's view of Bonnie. Behind the attendant, the other two passengers were holding Ben and the twins at gunpoint. Bonnie touched Damon's back, trying to move him out of the way without success.

"You need to trust me, Salvatore," she whispered.

"Not a chance," he growled her way.

"Stop talking," the angry, fluffy-haired brunette shouted at them both, shaking the gun in Damon's face. If he was La Familia's last line of defense, they hadn't expected them to resist as much as they did.

"Look, dude," Bonnie started, and Damon had to resist the urge to shove his hand over her mouth," I'm tired of running. I'm supposed to be on summer vacation, not fighting bastards like you. So do yourself a favor, put the gun away before you get hurt."

The bastard backed up, moving out of Damon's range to grab the gun. Damon didn't know why he hadn't taken it when he first saw it, but he guessed he was just distracted by Bonnie.

The man moved to Damon's left, pointing the gun toward Bonnie. Damon thought about rushing him, but he remembered his situation with Meredith. There was a chance he could be underestimating this guy. Knowing Bonnie's life was on the line, he couldn't take that chance.

Damon needed to figure something out. He needed to save Bonnie.

Trust me!

Bonnie's words were floating in his head more like a feeling than words. He felt their weight bring years of working together during difficult times to the forefront of his mind.

Moving out of her way at that moment felt unthinkable. Hadn't he sacrificed everything to keep her safe and alive? How could Damon risk it for this? How could she even ask him something like that? Damon stood resolute, not budging an inch.

"You bitch," the attendant spat out," You will be the first to die. But first, you'll tell me…"

The man stopped talking, instantly dropping the gun in his hand as if it were a hot potato. Smoke was coming off the gun and some from his hand. The smoke seemed to grow until the tip of his finger was a light. Slowly, the flame started to creep up his hand, but the man stared in awe, the fire reaching his wrist before he began to scream. Suddenly, he started to cry before combusting into a flaming ball of light. Just as quickly as he caught fire, he was extinguished by a pile of ash where he once stood.

Damon looked at Bonnie; covered in blood, she looked as if Carrie had come alive from Stephen King's novel; her eyes had gone completely black, as they had on her Prom night. Damon could smell the intensity of the dark magic rolling through her body. It was Expression, the magic she had vowed never to use again. The witch placed a hand on the vampire's chest, and he moved to the side; her attention was on the other two hunters.

"It would be wise to stop before I turn you to ash as well," her voice was soft, but it resonated in Damon's soul.

The other hunters put their guns down, and Ben and the girls made quick work subduing them, throwing them off the train to land God knows where. By the time the hunters were escorted away, Bonnie had almost fainted.

Damon guided her into a chair, resisting the urge to scold her. The vampire bit his wrist deeply, letting a heavy blood flow for the witch's healing. She sucked on his wound, a noticeable heat rising to his cheeks.

Damon could barely sense her presence in her mind once more before she stopped drinking. She passed out, snoring soundly; he checked her wound and noticed it had healed shut. She was exhausted from using so much magic, but she was okay.

"She's pretty amazing," Ben stated.

Damon was sitting at the train bar nursing a drink he had no intention of finishing. He looked up at Ben, confused, for a second before processing what he had said.

"Terrifying is more like it," he chuckled, swigging the now watery drink.

"Guess that's one way of putting met your match," Ben spoke wryly, ordering the same drink Damon was having.

"More than my match," Damon snorted, "I am over my head with her."

"I think anyone who tries to get close to a Bennett is in for a rude awakening," Ben took a sip.

"You've dealt with Bennetts before?" Damon asked, curious; he never mentioned discussing his role as a protector of the Bennett bloodline. He didn't remember talking about his brother with Ben either.

"It was a while back when I met her mother, Abby," Ben took another swig," It was a job kind of strange one; I was looking for a guy who used to work for this hunter group called the Armory. I thought Abby could point me in the right direction. She sent me to Lucy instead. Almost got my head cut off after that."

"When was this?"

"Sometime in June 2011, I think," Ben sighed," Why?"

"No reason," Damon was still trying to put pieces together with what happened with Lucy. She wasn't his responsibility, but still, he was concerned that she went MIA without a trace.

"Sure, so how did you get shacked up with Bonnie Fucking Bennett, of all people?" Ben asked; rumors were circulating about the witch. Probably stories about how she almost killed Klaus Mikaelson and managed to get rid of Esther the First Witch.

Damon doubted that if Benny knew about Bonnie, he wouldn't know about Damon's role in the whole thing.: the Big Bad Vampire and reluctant protector.

"I was stuck with her since the day she was born," he stated matter of fact," And you? How did you end up taking jobs escorting hunters and witches?"

"After I turned, I searched for you," Damon swallowed hard, feeling a heavy pit form in his stomach," Ran into this group of 'free mercenaries.'"

Damon lifted his hand. He didn't need to hear the rest. Free mercenaries were the kinds of guys who looked for wars to feed their bloodlust. If Ben was looking for him in that crowd, that told him what kind of father he had been.

" I left after a year or two of living the wrong way," Ben sighed," I just couldn't let it go… my humanity. I tried, but it just kept coming back in strange ways. Like father like son, I guess."

Damon wanted to explain, but there wasn't anything to say. His humanity was something he struggled to keep off and struggled to keep on. There were sad moments where it would just disappear and painful moments when it would reappear. Benny had unfortunately seen the range of those moments.

"I owe you an apology," Damon stated matter of fact. Inside he was just feeling like utter shit, barely able to keep his self-hatred under control.

"You do, but you don't have to say anything. I know you did your best. Better than my father ever did. "

Damon looked, watching Benny dumbfounded, his dark eyes radiating the same boyish innocence he remembered. It hit Damon that his son was forgiving him. Something he had never thought would happen, and he knew he never deserved. Damon wanted to tell him to stop, but he couldn't speak.

"Anyway, I just wanted to say thanks. If you ever need anything, just call. "

Benny got up, leaving his card just as Bonnie approached the bar. Damon looked away, not wanting her to see through him.

"I'll take that," Damon couldn't help but notice that she picked Benny's card up and put it into her bra," What? It's not for personal use. I forgot to give him my mom's number."

Bonnie ordered a beer and left the drink car away from their seats. Damon paid for their drink and followed her. Stuffing the beverage behind her shirt, she managed to make it to the end of the train. Finally, at the balcony, she cracked open her beer on the door latch just after he closed it, a skill she picked up from Donovan.

They sat there in silence for a while. Damon was staring at her. Bonnie was staring at the world. It felt like a heavy metaphor for their relationship. Bonnie worried about the state of the world while Damon was trying to get Bonnie to notice him.

Finally, Bonnie sighed, and Damon took that as a signal that he could talk.

"You okay, about you know," Damon couldn't say, killing a man. He didn't want to trigger her if he didn't have to. Damon knew killing someone for the first time was never an easy thing. His first time left him feeling guilty for a few years. It took him almost half a century before he warmed up to the idea that he could end another human being's life and be okay.

"Is it bad that I don't feel bad?" Bonnie asked him, and he searched her eyes for some hidden sorrow. He saw weariness, but he couldn't tell if that was just exhaustion or her usual malaise of responsibility.

"I.." Damon didn't know the correct answer, but he knew he didn't want her to hurt the way he had," It's okay either way. Regardless, I am grateful to you. You saved my life. Again."

Bonnie bit her lip, obviously not completely satisfied with his answer. Damon felt like he was on pins and needles. He wanted to say the right thing.

"It was like when we first met," Bonnie piqued Damon's interest.

"When you saved me from those Klan members," Damon was confused for a minute," It was the first night we played pool together. When you gave me my first nickname, little bird."

Damon remembered that night, his little bird all alone, being leered at by a bunch of racists. Damon had been watching Bonnie's back long before that night, but he did remember it as the first time she had thanked him for saving her life. The vampire had killed every one of those Klansmen and enjoyed doing it, even going so far as to dump their bodies in acid and bury them in shallow graves. He didn't know why he went that far, but how they looked at Bonnie struck him.

"One of those Klans men turned out to be a murdering rapist. I had read his mind and saw what he had done to other women. What he wanted to do to me." she sighed, but Damon could see her hands shaking the way they had that night. His own heart was hammering away, feeling her pain with her.

"I remembered thinking they would get away with it again if I didn't do something. But I was too afraid to do the right thing. It wasn't until years later, after finding out about you, that I realized you had killed them."

"It made me mad to think you had done such an awful thing. But what frustrated me most was that I couldn't see anything wrong with what you had done. Those men were awful, and justice, well, often ignores the kind of people those men hurt."

Bonnie's jaw clenched, and he felt the weight of their unspoken conversation. Racism was never a thing they discussed, even though Damon understood one day it would have to be. He hadn't hidden his past; he had left enough clues for her to glean from to ask those troubling questions so they could have the hard conversations, but Bonnie had never invited it. Damon never pressed her out of some cowardice on his part, but now he wondered if Bonnie hadn't asked because she had gotten her answer through his actions.

Damon was slightly relieved but knew better than to think that would be good enough. She should question him. Bonnie should dig deeper. She shouldn't settle for what she only gleaned from the surface. She should seek out the dark, gritty stuff, the things that made him who he was. Shouldn't Bonnie want to know more about all of him if they were friends?

Maybe she doesn't want to know more?

Damon thought back to the conversations he shared with Bonnie. She always seemed truly invested and interested, but for the most part, he volunteered everything. Bonnie did ask questions, though, but perhaps she just wasn't sure she could ask him about that.

"He killed his sister, his flesh and blood," Bonnie stated, staring scornfully at the world whizzing by, bringing Damon back into the moment.

Damon felt awful for not fully paying attention. He hoped he hadn't missed something important. Finally, she was opening up, and he was too busy thinking about himself.

"Can you believe that?" Bonnie asked, looking in his direction, searching for shared outrage.

"No," he sighed, thinking about the many times he had considered ending his brother's life. Sometimes, out of jealousy and fear of the kind of man his brother had become.

Damon had spent many years torturing and punishing his brother in so many ways, but he could never actually go so far as to kill Stefan. Whatever it was that made brothers murder each other was just not in him. It was Damon's only redeeming quality.

"I hate to ask this," she offered, but what's on your mind, Salvatore?" Bonnie was looking at him, her brow furrowed in a deep line. She was frustrated with him. Damon faltered; he was the world's worst listener. Damon thought Bonnie had picked up on his lack of attention. He swore he would do better.

"Hate to ask?" Damon stared at her, determined to reciprocate that same probing curiosity she gave him.

"I just–you're not thinking I am whining cause of this. Like you know with Kai," Bonnie frowned, looking away from him.

"I don't think you were whining about Kai, and I don't think you are whining about this. Bonnie, you are a good person," he paused momentarily, searching for the right words," I wasn't always so heartless. I wasn't good. I had a lifetime and an inheritance of bad decisions that proved I wasn't good, but even I struggled the first time."

"Mind you, my first time wasn't for the right reasons. I thought it was. I thought I had to do it. But I," Damon was choking up the smell of gunpowder and blood coming to his mind," I didn't enjoy it."

"But you felt bad," she stated flatly, swallowing.

"Yeah," he answered honestly," but like I said, I murdered someone. You executed someone awful. Someone evil. You shouldn't feel bad for doing the right thing. What I did wasn't the right thing."

Damon swallowed bile, waiting for her to ask him follow-up questions. Part of him wondered if he should just confess to what happened. Should he finally admit out loud his role in the Civil War and all the evil Damon had done before he gave his soul to the devil, Katherine Pierce? Would she still see good in him?

Bonnie cleared her throat, and he could see the tears she was holding back.

"I have a feeling, Damon, you didn't have a choice," she smiled at him," Thank you for respecting mine."

Bonnie lifted her beer and started drinking. Damon could feel her shutting down, wanting to end the conversation and move on, but he couldn't let her. The vampire must speak to her, confess his sins, and be whole. More than anything, Damon needed her to see him for who he was. Just as much as he knew she needed him to see her.

"Ben was like a surrogate son when I had my humanity off."

Damon expected questions about how that was possible, but Bonnie continued drinking her beer, but he knew she was listening.

"I compelled his mother for years, and somewhere along the way, he and I got close. When I left, he was twelve. I checked back in almost a decade later. I heard that the bar they lived in, the one we stayed at in New York, had been shot up. I saw the obituary; it said they were both dead. I guess I forgot about the last gift I gave him—a pendant with my blood in case of emergencies."

Damon cleared his throat. He always got a little choked up when he thought about finding their place abandoned. Bonnie touched his arm, not looking at him. He took her hand in his and sat there tracing her fingers, a habit he adopted to calm himself down whenever he was upset. Damon was circling her middle finger when Bonnie finally took her hand back.

Bonnie cleared her throat," You happy he's alive?"

"Of course, I'm happy that he is alive, but I'm not sure how I feel about him being a vampire," Damon sounded like a judgemental father not pleased with his son's chosen career.

"Well, he seems like a nice guy," Bonnie said as she stretched out.

"I guess I didn't fuck up too bad, " Damon chuckled.

"Yeah, father of the year sport," she joked before handing him the rest of her beer; it was almost empty. Damon tasted it and immediately understood why. He'd need to buy a few kegs for the Grille.

"Yeah, everybody's a critic."

"Jeez, stop being broody," she punched his arm, and Damon pretended to be severely injured. Although it hurt that she was playing it off as a joke, a telltale sign she no longer wanted to be emotional for the day.

"Vampire or not, he's alive. That's what matters, and maybe you could reach out every once in a while. Be a Dad again if you want. Just don't abandon him."

It went quiet momentarily as they both seemed to acknowledge what she had said. Bonnie rarely, if ever, mentioned her frustration with her mother. It was a sore spot Damon knew she hated talking about. She only discussed those things when she was in a lot of pain and just couldn't keep things under wraps anymore. Damon knew to be careful, but he was also excited by her opening up again more than once a night.

"It's his move; I wouldn't want to pressure him into anything, especially since I haven't been there for him."

"Yeah, but I'm sure he would appreciate the effort. No matter how late in the game."

Damon couldn't resist the opportunity," So, how are things with your mom?"

"I don't want to talk about my mom, Damon," Bonnie sighed, leaning over the railing of the train car, looking like she wanted to jump.

"Why not?" he asked, holding on to the hem of her shirt.

Damon knew she wouldn't jump, but he still needed to grab her if she did. Matt's words about her being casually suicidal never rang truer until he saw her jump in front of a wooden bullet to save him.

"One, I'm not worried about my mom right now, and two, I just don't."

"Have you called your mom yet to say happy birthday?"

"Damon!"

"Right, forgot that wasn't till next week."

"What about Ric?" Bonnie asked, her tone taking on that same commanding seriousness that always wrangled him from his silliness. In an attempt to change the subject, she returned to their earlier fight. However, Damon knew better than to let her win the game of deflecting.

Damon sighed, chuckling to himself before looking at Bonnie with a warm smolder. He supposed he could tell her, but Damon knew she would offer to help. Whatever this stone was, it was likely a lot more trouble than it was worth. Damon would have avoided the same mistake he had with Kai. Damon would protect her even if it meant protecting her from herself.

"That secret isn't for me to tell, so you'll have to ask Ric, but please don't ask. I think the man has been through enough."

"Fine, I won't ask. If Ric doesn't feel he can tell me, I can't force you to."

Their conversation went still again. Damon felt his stomach churning with hunger for more. Damon was grateful that she had opened up to him about death and, in some little way, about her mother, but he wanted more. He needed to know more.

If he were honest with himself, he selfishly desired to know what she thought of him. He wanted to kick himself for being such a self-centered prick, but he couldn't help it. Damon liked nothing more than to know what Bonnie thought of him.

That desire had enveloped him before they had spent time alone in 1994, and since then, he had been sick with wanting to appear as someone worthy in her eyes. He often tried to fight against it, acting like he didn't care. Yet somehow, he was always back to obsessing over her estimation of him.

Damon had an obsessive personality. He knew that, and wanting a good person like Bonnie to want to be around him was a dangerous obsession. Whether she consciously knew it or not, Bonnie had been making him work for it, challenging him more than anyone else. However, he could say that effort had been for the better.

Their time in the Prison World had spoiled him, and he started believing that Bonnie liked him a little. However, that journal entry had shown him that she still had negative feelings toward him. Although Damon wasn't a victim of her influence, as he liked to think sometimes, he was a willing participant. His obsession with her made it impossible not to try and figure out where he stood in her eyes.

Yet Damon couldn't just ask. He wasn't that broken down yet. And if he did ask, he was certain Bonnie wouldn't be so forward with her answer. She never was forward with her feelings.

He just needed to find a way to ask her what she thought about him without actually saying it, confess without actually confessing to her. Perhaps he could be honest just this once, and she would find herself swimming upstream into his net. It couldn't hurt to tell a little truth.

"You know I've never shared so much about myself with anyone. What does that say about me?" Damon admitted and paused. His heart was hammering in the silence. He didn't dare look at the witch lest he saw a scowl or other unwanted expression.

"Not the same as what you would share with Elena, right?" Bonnie asked, her voice distant, but Damon could hear her heartbeat hammering away suddenly. Damon paused for a moment, the words finally sinking into his soul. The answer was no. Damon shared more of his true self with Bonnie than his fiance.

"Not about Ben, at least," he offered, trying to wrestle down his heart, determined to leap out of his chest. Honesty was proving effective, but it just might kill him.

"But the things you share with me," Bonnie licked her lips before she cleared her throat," They uh-uh … are the things you would share with Elena?"

"Depends," Damon answered nervously. Before he told Bonnie, he might not have shared his story about Gale and Ben with Elena. She tended to respond very emotionally about those kinds of things. Damon was afraid she might feel sorry for him when, in reality, he was the one in the wrong.

However, Damon wasn't sure if that was the answer Bonnie wanted to hear. She looked a little concerned. Tired of the day's events, his mind struggled to make logical conclusions.

"I've been feeling…" Bonnie started, but her voice broke.

Damon knew she was about to tell him what was going on, and he tried to be patient, but his head was filling in the blanks.

She wants to go home.

Or does she want to give in to her attraction and see where it goes?

Or maybe she doesn't want to see where this is going and also doesn't want to be friends.

She doesn't want to be friends anymore and wants to go home.

"Like you want me to be like Elena."

"What?" his heart was thrumming in his throat. He was practically shaking. Damon might start desiccating soon.

"But also like you resent me because I'm not Elena."

Damon was in shock.

"What?"

"I mean, I get it. I'm not as understanding as Elena is. I know I'm a lot harder on you about things."

"You think I want you to be like Elena?" he finally processed the statement. His body was so tense, like a viper coiled on himself. He was not sure how her words made him feel. He knew it was a lot, whatever it was.

"I think," Bonnie was looking ashamed," it feels like sometimes when we are alone together, you just seem like, ugh, I don't know how to describe it."

Bonnie had both her hands around her neck. Damon knew she did this when she was stressed out. It was as if she would rather be suffocating than dealing with the things happening at that moment.

Then it hit Damon. Bonnie wanted to know what he thought of her. He wanted to know what Bonnie thought of him. They had both been nervous about what they felt about one another. The revelation alone was causing them both to experience a level of emotional agitation that caused them both to look red in the face.

Bonnie thought he resented her because she wasn't like Elena. That idea was unbelievable to him, but it explained many of the things she had been doing lately. Damon had felt like Bonnie subconsciously was trying to fill the space Elena had left in everyone's heart. As if her being the Great Bonnie Bennett wasn't enough for everyone to love her. Still, he felt bad she felt like he was comparing them to each other. Damon never wanted Bonnie to feel like she wasn't good enough.

"You know you can't replace her, right?" Damon regretted those words, wanting to kick himself with the foot he put in his mouth.

Damon could see the flash of hurt in Bonnie's eyes, so he tried to fix things," She couldn't replace you either. "

"You are irreplaceable," he assured her, removing her fingers from her delicate neck," the both of you."

Bonnie's hand fit nicely in his, and his throat felt heavy for a moment before he felt his heart finally sink back in place. She was grounding him again just by touching her.

Damon could feel her pulse soften; somehow, he had the same effect on her. His thumb caressed her veins and saw the greenish-blue shimmer plump and radiant. The hammering that was once in his throat went to his heart and loins, just as heavy but far more comfortable.

"And as far as feeling like I resent you," he swallowed, taking a deep breath to steady himself," maybe that resentment you are feeling isn't directed at you?"

"Then who are you resentful toward?" she asked him, her bottom lip pouting, her eyes examining skeptically.

"My mother, maybe," he laughed coldly.

Bonnie stared at him briefly before shaking her head," I guess I am just being insecure again."

"What am I going do with my insecure little bird?" he giggled before sighing and pulling her into a hug, "Come here."

Bonnie didn't resist as Damon lifted her off the ground in a bear hug. As they had done so many times before, she wrapped her legs around him so tightly. Damon suffocated in comfortable silence while Bonnie choked him silently and comfortably.

Damon was happy they had moved on, but now he was concerned. Despite his assurances, that resentment he thought he had so cleverly hidden was rearing its ugly head.

"Your heartbeat is so loud," Bonnie whispered in his ear.

Damon couldn't hide anything from Bonnie. The vampire didn't think he was treating the witch-like she was a replacement for his fiance. But if he were honest with himself, he hadn't exactly been thinking platonically about his relationship with Bonnie lately.

"Cause you are squeezing me to death," he choked out, and she started to squeeze even harder.

Damon did resent Bonnie; however, it wasn't for the reason she thought.

"Promise me, Damon," Bonnie whispered," You won't leave me suddenly."

Damon opened his eyes to look into hers, glowing the warmest shade of brown he had ever seen. The depth of sadness and fear he saw in them made him heartbroken. He had never seen her so scared.

"I keep dreaming that I'll wake up one day, and you aren't there."

"Wait, you're dreaming about me?"

"I'm serious," she pouted, trying to pull away, but he held her tighter.

Damon resented her because, despite his best efforts, their friendship was becoming burdensome for him. His obsession with her opinion of him grew more assertive but not as strong as his newest obsession: happiness.

"Fine, I promise, Bon-bon," Damon kissed her nose, which was wrinkled in frustration, causing those stress lines to vanish instantly.

Bonnie's brown eyes started to brighten again in little specs. Ever so slightly, she leaned a little closer so he kissed her cheek, and she closed her eyes in response. With ragged breathing, Bonnie's arms wrapped around him even tighter as he kissed her other cheek.

"I am not going anywhere," he whispered.

Every day he spent with her was a struggle because he had to hide his happiness in front of her and Ric.

The vampire hovered over the witch's lips, breathing his final words into her mouth, "You're stuck with me, remember."

Damon resented Bonnie because he should be missing the hell out of Elena, but he wasn't.

"Thank you," she whispered, her eyes opening to catch him staring at her lips hungrily, her eyes mirroring his.

Damon resented Bonnie because she was making him forget all about Elena.

Bonnie pulled away, making some excuse to leave, and Damon felt like he could die.